HAROLD B. LEE LIBRARY
•HIOHAM yOUNQ UNIVERdiTY
WOVO. UTAH
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in 2011 with funding from
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THE COMPLETE WORKS OF
Lewis Carroll
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
Alexander WooUcott
AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY
John Tenniel
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RANDOM HOUSE • NEW YORK
K
MANUFACTURED IN THE U. S. A.
iOSHAM YOUNG UH.ve«S>T^
PROVO, UTAr^
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CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
BYALEXANDERWOOLLCOTT 3
I. ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDER-
LAND
1. Down the Rabbit-Hole 17
2. The Pool of Tears 26
3. A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale 35
4. The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill 42
5. Advice from a Caterpillar 53
6. Pig and Pepper 63
7. A Mad Tea-Party 74
8. The Queen's Croquet-Ground 84
9. The Mock Turtle's Story 95
10. The Lobster-Quadrille 105
11. Who Stole the Tarts? 114
12. Alice's Evidence 122
II. THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
PREFACE TO THE 1896 EDITION I38
1. Looking-Glass House 141
2. The Garden of Live Flow^ers 156
3. Looking-Glass Insects 168
4. Tw^eedledum and Tweedledee 180
5. Wool and Water 195
6. Humpty Dumpty 208
7. The Lion and the Unicorn 221
8. "It's My Ow^n Invention" 233
9. Queen Alice 250
10. Shaking 268
11. Waking 268
12. Which Dreamed It? 269
VI CONTENTS
III. SYLVIE AND BRUNO
PREFACE 277
1. Less Bread! More Taxes! 287
2. L'Amie Inconnue 294
3. Birthday-Presents 301
4. A Cunning Conspiracy 309
5. A Beggar's Palace 316
6. The Magic Locket 325
7. The Baron's Embassy 332
8. A Ride on a Lion 339
9. A Jester and a Bear 346
10. The Other Professor 354
11. Peter and Paul 361
12. A Musical Gardener 369
13. A Visit to Dogland 377
14. Fairy-Sylvie 385
15. Bruno's Revenge 397
16. A Changed Crocodile 405
17. The Three Badgers 412
18. Queer Street, Number Forty 423
19. How To Make a Phlizz 432
20. Light Come, Light Go 441
21. Through the Ivory Door 451
22. Crossing the Line 463
23. An Outlandish Watch 475
24. The Frogs' Birthday-Treat 484
25. Looking Eastw^ard 496
IV. SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
PREFACE 509
1. Bruno's Lessons 523
2. Love's Curfew 533
3. Streaks of Dawn 542
4. The Dog-King • 551
5. Matilda Jane 559
6. Willie's Wife 568
7. Mein Herr 575
8. In a Shady Place 584
9. The Farewell-Party 593
10. Jabbering and Jam 604
CONTENTS Vll
II. The Man in the Moon
613
12. Fairy-Music
13. What Tottles Meant
620
630
14. Bruno's Picnic
641
15. The Little Foxes
653
16. Beyond These Voices
17. To the Rescue!
660
669
18. A Newspaper-Cutting
19. A Fairy-Duet
20. Gammon and Spinach
679
682
695
21. The Professor's Lecture
706
22. The Banquet
23. The Pig-Tale
24. The Beggar's Return
25. Life Out of Death
715
724
734
744
V. VERSE
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK
PREFACE
Fit The First
753
757
('I'he Landing)
Fit The Second
760
(The Bellman s Speech)
Fit The Third
764
(The Baker's Tale)
Fit The Fourth
766
The Hunting
Fit The Fifth
769
The Beaver's Lesson
Fit The Sixth
773
The Barrister s Dream
• # •— '
Fit The Seventh
776
The Banker's Fate
m m
Fit The Eighth
The Vanishing
777
EARLY VERSE
My Fairy
Punctuality
779
780
Vlll CONTENTS
Melodies 781
Brother and Sister 782
Facts 783
Rules and Regulations 784
Horrors 786
Misunderstandings 787
As It Fell Upon a Day 788
Ye Fattale Cheyse 789
Lays of Sorrow, No. i 791
Lays of Sorrow, No. 2 794
The Two Brothers 799
The Lady of the Ladle 805
Coronach 806
She's All My Fancy Painted Him 807
Photography Extraordinary 809
Lays of Mystery, Imagination, and Humour, No. i: 810
The Palace of Humbug
The Mock Turtle's Song (Early version) 813
Upon the Lonely Moor 813
Miss Jones 816
PUZZLES FROM WONDERLAND
Puzzles
819
Solutions
821
PROT^OGUES TO PLAYS
Prologue to "La Guida di Bragia"
823
Prologue
823
Prologue
826
PHANTASMAGORIA
Phantasmagoria
Canto I: The Try sting
827
Canto II: Hys Fyve Rules
831
Canto III: Scarmoges
834
Canto IV: Hys Nouryture
838
Canto V: Byckerment
843
Canto VI: Dyscomfyture
847
Canto VII: Sad Souvenaunce
851
Echoes
853
A Sea Dirge
854
Ye Carpette Knyghte
855
CONTENTS IX
Hiawatha's Photographing 856
Melancholetta 861
A Valentine 863
The Three Voices 865
Theme with Variations 878
A Game of Fives 879
Poeta Fit, non Nascitur 880
Size and Tears 884
Atalanta in Camden-Town 885
The Lang Coortin' 887
Four Riddles 893
Fame's Penny-Trumpet 898
COLLEGE RHYMES AND NOTES
BY AN OXFORD CHIEL
Ode to Damon 901
I Those Horrid Hurdy-Gurdies! 903
My Fancy 904
The Majesty of Justice 905
The Elections to the Hebdomadal Council 908
The Deserted Park 917
t Examination Statute 920
ACROSTICS, INSCRIPTIONS,
AND OTHER VERSE
Acrostic: Little maidens, when you look 922
To three puzzled little Girls, from the Author 923
Double Acrostic: I sing a place wherein agree 923
Three Little Maids 925
; Puzzle 925
Three Children 926
Two Thieves 927
Two Acrostics: Round the wondrous globe 928
Maidens, if a maid you meet
Double Acrostic: Two little girls near London dwell 929
Acrostic: "Are you deaf, Father William?" 930
Acrostic: Maidens! if you love the tale 930
Acrostic: Love-lighted eyes, that will not start 931
To M.A.B. 932
Acrostic: Maiden, though thy heart may quail 932
Madrigal 933
X CONTENTS
Love among the Roses 933
Two Poems to Rachel Daniel 934
The Lyceum 936
Acrostic: Around my lonely hearth, to-night 937
Dreamland 937
To my Child-Friend 938
A Riddle 939
A Limerick 939
Rhyme? and Reason? 940
A Nursery Darling 940
Maggie's Visit to Oxford 941
Maggie B— 945
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS
Three Sunsets 946
The Path of Roses 950
The Valley of the Shadow of Death 953
Solitude 958
Beatrice 960
Stolen Waters 962
The Willow-Tree 966
Only a Woman's Hair 967
The Sailor's Wife 969
After Three Days 972
Faces in the Fire 975
A Lesson in Latin 976
Puck Lost and Found 977
VL STORIES
A Tangled Tale 983
Novelty and Romancement 1079
A Photographer's Day Out 1089
Wilhelm von Schmitz 1097
The Legend of Scotland iiii
VIL A MISCELLANY
The Offer of the Clarendon Trustees 1121
The New Method of Evaluation 11 23
The Dynamics of a Parti-cle 11 29
The New Belfry of Christ Church, Oxford 1139
CONTENTS XI
The Vision of the Three T's 1150
The Blank Cheque 11 70
Twelve Months in a Curatorship 1177
Three Years in a Curatorship 11 82
Resident Women-Students 11 85
Some Popular Fallacies about Vivisection 1 1 89
Lawn Tennis Tournaments 1201
Eight or Nine Wise Words about Letter Writing 121 1
What the Tortoise Said to Achilles 1225
The Two Clocks 1230
Photography Extraordinary 1231
Hints of Etiquette, or, Dining Out Made Easy 1235
A Hemispherical Problem 1237
A Selection from Symbolic Logic 1238
Rules for Court Circular 1265
Croquet Castles 1269
Mischmasch 1272
Doublets 1274
A Postal Problem 1280
The Alphabet Cipher 1283
Introduction to The Lost Plum Ca\e 1285
INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF VERSE 1289
As far as can be ascertained, the following pieces have
never appeared in print except in their original editions.
We are grateful to Mr. Morris L. Parrish for his courtesy
in allow^ing us to copy them from the originals in his
collection.
*'Resident Women Students"
"Some Popular Fallacies About Vivisection"
"Lawn Tennis Tournaments"
"Rules for Court Circular"
"Croquet Castles"
"Mischmasch"
"Doublets"
"A Postal Problem"
"The Alphabet Cipher"
Introduction to "The Lost Plum Cake"
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CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE
845 My Fairy
845 Punctuality
845 Melodies
845 Brother and Sister
845 Facts
845 Rules and Regulations
849 Hints of Etiquette, or Dining Out Made Easy
849 A Hemispherical Problem
850 Horrors
850 Misunderstandings
850 As It Fell Upon a Day
850-1853 Ye Fattale Cheyse
850-1853 Lays of Sorrow, No. i
850-1853 Lays of Sorrow, No. 2
853 The Two Brothers
853 Solitude
854 Wilhelm von Schmitz
854 The Lady of the Ladle
854 Coronach
855 She's All My Fancy Painted Him
855 Photography Extraordinary
855 Lays of Mystery, Imagination, and Humour,
No. i: The Palace of Humbug
856 Upon the Lonely Moor
856 Ye Carpette Knyghte
856 The Three Voices
856 The Path of Roses
856 Novelty and Romancement
856-1860 The Legend of Scotland
857 Hiawatha's Photographing
857 The Sailor's Wife
859 The Willow Tree
xiii
XIV CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE
860 Faces in the Fire
860 A Photographer's Day Out
860 Rules For Court Circular
860 A Valentine
860-1863 Poeta Fit, non Nascitur
861 A Sea Dirge
861 Ode to Damon
861 Those Horrid Hurdy-Gurdies!
861 Acrostic: Little maiden, when you look
861 Three Sunsets
861 After Three Days
862 My Fancy
862 Beatrice
862 Stolen Waters
862 Only a Woman's Hair
862 The Mock Turtle's Song (Early version)
863 Croquet Castles
863 Size and Tears
863 The Majesty of Justice
864 Examination Statute
865 The New Method of Evaluation
865 The Dynamics of a Parti-cle
865 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
866 The Elections to the Hebdomadal Council
867 The Deserted Park
868 The Valley of the Shadow of Death '
868 The Offer of the Clarendon Trustees
868 The Alphabet Cipher
869 Phantasmagoria
869 Melancholetta
869 Theme With Variations
869 Atalanta in Camden Town
869 The Lang Coortin'
869 To three puzzled litde Girls from the Author
869 Double Acrostic: I sing a place wherein agree
869 Three Little Maids
870 Puzzles from Wonderland
871 Prologue (p. 823)
871 Prologue to "La Guida di Bragia"
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE XV
871 Three Children
872 Two Thieves
872 The New Belfry of Christ Church, Oxford
872 Through the Looking Glass
873 Prologue (p. 826)
873 The Vision of the Three T's
874 The Blank Cheque
875 Some Popular Fallacies about Vivisection
876 The Hunting of the Snark
876 Fame's Pfenny Trumpet
876 Acrostic: "Are you deaf, Father William?"
876 Acrostic: Maidens! if you love the tale
876 Acrostic: Love-lighted eyes that will not start
876 Acrostic: Maiden, though thy heart may quail
877 Madrigal
878 Love among the Roses
879 Doublets
8^0 A Tangled Tale
880, 1 88 1 Two Poems to Rachel Daniel
881 The Lyceum
882 Dreamland
882 Mischmasch
883 Echoes
883 A Game of Fives
883 Rhyme? and Reason?
883 Lawn Tennis Tournaments
884 Twelve Months in a Curatorship
886 To my Child-Friend
886 Three Years in a Curatorship
888 A Lesson in Latin
889 Sylvie and Bruno
889 A Nursery Darling
889 Maggie's Visit to Oxford
890 Eight or Nine Wise Words about Letter Writing
891 Maggie B —
891 Puck Lost and Found
891 A Postal Problem
893 Sylvie and Bruno Concluded
894 What the Tortoise Said to Achilles
XVi CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE
1895
A Selection from Symbolic T,ogic
1896
Resident Women-Students
1897
Introduction to The Lost Plum Caf^e
N. D.
Miss Jones
N.D.
Four Riddles (p. 893)
N.D.
Puzzle (p. 925)
N.D.
Acrostics: Round the wondrous globe
Maidens, if a maid you meet
Around my lonely hearth tonight
N.D.
A Riddle (p. 939)
N.D.
A T.imerick (p. 939)
N.D.
To M. A. B.
THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
LEWIS CARROLL
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INTRODUCTION
On THE fourth of July, 1862, the Reverend Charles Lut-
widge Dodgson, a young Oxford Don, who was then, and
for nearly half a century remained. Mathematical Lec-
turer of Christ Church, took the day of? and went a-row-
ing with the small daughters of the Dean. That eventful
picnic was duly noted in his neat and interminable diary
that night. The entry runs thus :
"I made an expedition up the river to Godstow with the
three Liddells; we had tea on the bank there and did not
reach Christ Church until half-past eight."
But at that time he did not deem one subsequently en-
hanced detail of the day sufficiently important to be worth
chronicling. He said nothing of the fairy tale he began to
spin "all in the golden afternoon" there in the shadow of
the hayrick to which the four Argonauts retreated from
the heat of the sun. It was a tale about just such a little
girl as the gravely attentive Alice Liddell who used to
prod him when he ventured to let lapse for a time this
story of another Alice falling down a rabbit-hole into the
world of the unexpected. In response to such proddings,
he carried the story along on that and other afternoons
and finally committed it to manuscript as "Alice's Adven-
tures Underground." Somewhat expanded this was pub-
lished three years later under the nom de guerre of Lewis
Carroll and under the title of Alice s Adventures in Won-
derland,
In the sixty years that have passed since then, this gay.
2 INTRODUCTION
roving dream story and its sequel have seeped into the
folk-lore of the world. It has become as deeply rooted a
part of that folk lore as the legend of Cinderella or any
other tale first told back in the unfathomable past. Not
Tiny Tim, nor Falstaflf, nor Rip Van Winkle, nor any
other character wrought in the English tongue seems now
a more permanent part of that tongue's heritage than do
the high-handed Humpty Dumpty, the wistful Mad Hat-
ter, the somewhat arbitrary Queen of Hearts, the evasive
Cheshire Cat and the gently pathetic White Knight.
The tale has been read aloud in all the nurseries from
Oxford town to the ends of the Empire. And there is no
telling how many copies of it have been printed and sold.
For when it was new, there was no binding law of inter-
national copyright and it was as much the prey of all the
freebooters in America as was a somewhat kindred work
of genius that came out of England a few years later — the
nonsensical and lovely thing called Pinafore,
And the Alice books have known no frontier. If you
poke about in the bookstalls on the Continent, you will
stumble inevitably on Alice s Abenteur im Wunderland.
Or Le Aventure d' Alice nel Paese Meraviglie (with illus-
trations, of course, by Giovanni Tenniel) . You might even
run into La aventuroj de Alicio en Mirlando which, if you
must know, is life down a rabbit-hole as told in Esperanto.
And you are certain to come upon Les Aventures d' Alice
au Pays de Merveilles with one of the puns of the incor-
rigible Mock Turtle (Fausse-Tortue) rendered thus un-
recognizable :
"La maitresse etait une vieille tortue; nous I'appelions
chelonee."
"Et pourquoi Tappeliez-vous chelonee, si ce n'etait pas
son nom?"
"Parcequ'on ne pouvait s'empecher de s'ecrier en la voy-
INTRODUCTION 3
ant: Quel long nez!" dit la Fausse-Tortue d'un ton fache;
"vous etes vraiment bien bornee!"
Then the Alice books have been employed as scenarios
for controversy. A long bibliography of such satires as
Alice in Kulturland or Malice in Blunderland would in-
dicate as much. The tale of Alice's adventure down the
rabbit-hole and through the looking-glass is still a very
source book for withering anecdotes in the House of
Commons or malignant cartoons in Punchy and even so
sedate an orator as Woodrow Wilson, in speaking once of
the ceaseless vigilance and aspiration required of a pro-
gressive, compared himself to the Red Queen, who, you
will remember, had to run as fast as her legs would carry
her if she wanted so much as to stay in the same place.
Plays have been wrought from the stuff of the Alice
story. Some of these in London have been ambitious har-
lequinades. Irene Vanbrugh, for instance, could tell you
how Lewis Carroll once watched her play the Knave of
Hearts. More often, they have been sleazy, amateurish
ventures, an outlet for the exhibitionism of grown-ups,
who would then have the effrontery to say they were do-
ing it to please the kiddies.
Even the symphony orchestras know Alice ; for the chat-
ter of the flowers in the looking-glass garden, the thunder
of ]abberwoc\y, the hum of the looking-glass insects and
the wistfulness of the White Knight have all been caught
up in the lovely music of Deems Taylor. The artists have
discovered it; and the book has even undergone the some-
times painful experience of being illustrated by Peter
Newell.
Indeed, everything has befallen Alice, except the last
thing — psychoanalysis. At least the new psychologists
have not explored this dream book nor pawed over the
gentle, shrinking celibate who wrote it. They have not sub-
4 INTRODUCTION
jected to their disconcerting scrutiny the extraordinary
contrast between the cautious, prissy pace of the man and
the mad, gay gait of the tale he told. They have not em-
barrassingly compared the Rev. Charles L. Dodgson with
the immortal Lewis Carroll, two persons whom he him-
self never liked to see together.
One discrepancy between them has always been a sub-
ject of amused reflection — a discrepancy not unfamiliar
to a generation which knows that one of its own most
hilarious clowns is (in what is sometimes confusedly call-
ed real life) the professor of political economy at McGill
University. It was the dual nature which, when Lewis
Carroll was asked to contribute to a philosophical sym-
posium, compelled the Mathematical Lecturer of Christ
Church to reply coldly:
And what mean all these mysteries to me
Whose life is full of indices and surds .^
^^ + 7^ + 53
JUL
3
It was the discrepancy which once proved so embarrass-
ing to him in his relations with his Queen. Victoria had
been so good as to be delighted with Mr. Dodgson's
photographs, for you may be sure that the then Prince of
Wales, when he visited Oxford, did not get away without
some samples of Mr. Dodgson's adroitness with a camera.
Victoria even went so far as to say that Albert would have
appreciated them highly. Then, when Alice was publish-
ed and won her heart, she graciously suggested that Mr.
Dodgson dedicate his next book to her. Unfortunately for
Her Majesty, his next book was a mathematical opus en-
titled An Elementary Treatise on Determinants,
But the discrepancy which would more deeply interest
INTRODUCTION 5
those given to a new research into old Hves hes in the fact
that the man who wrote the most enchanting nonsense in
the EngHsh language — a just description, surely, of the
Alice books and The Hunting of the Snar\ — was a put-
tering, fussy, fastidious, didactic bachelor, who was al-
most painfully humorless in his relations with the grown-
up world around him. You can see that much uncon-
sciously revealed in the fatuous biography written a few
months after Lewis Carroll's death in 1898 by his obliv-
ious and too respectful nephew, who was awed by what
he called the "purity and refinement" of his uncle's mind.
That the shadow of a disappointment fell athwart the
uncle's life, his nephew did detect; but he was the kind of
biographer who would go on to say: "Those who loved
him would not wish to lift the veil from these dead sanc-
tities."
You must picture Lewis Carroll as living precisely in
his quarters in the Tom Quad at Christ Church, all his
life neatly pigeonholed, all the letters he wrote or received
in thirty-seven years elaborately summarized and cata-
logued, so that by the time he died there were more than
98,000 cross references in the files of his correspondence.
He was the kind of man who kept a diagram showing
where you sat when you dined with him and what you
ate, lest he serve you the same dish when you came again.
He was the kind of man who, when an issue of Jabber-
tvoc\y, the school paper of a Boston seminary, published
a coarse anecdote from Washington's Diary, wrote to Bos-
ton a solemn rebuke of such indelicacy. He was the kind
of man who gravely stipulated that no illustrations for a
book of his be drawn on Sunday and who could indite the
following reproach to a friend of his :
After changing my mind several times, I have at last de-
6 INTRODUCTION
cided to venture to ask a favour of you, and to trust that you
will not misinterpret my motives in doing so.
The favour I would ask is, that you will not tell me any
more stories, such as you did on Friday, of remarks which
children are said to have made on very sacred subjects — re-
marks which most people would recognize as irreverent, if
made by grown-up people, but which are assumed to be inno-
cent when made by children who are unconscious of any ir-
reverence, the strange conclusion being drawn that they are
therefore innocent when repeated by a grown-up person.
The misinterpretation I would guard against is your sup-
posing that I regard such repetition as always wrong in any
grown-up person. Let me assure you that I do not so regard
it. I am always willing to believe that those who repeat such
stories differ wholly from myself in their views of what is,
and what is not, fitting treatment of sacred things, and I fully
recognize that what would certainly be wrong in me, is not
necessarily so in them.
So I simply ask it as a personal favour to myself. The hear-
ing of that anecdote gave me so much pain, and spoiled so
much the pleasure of my tiny dinner-party, that I feel sure
you will kindly spare me such in future.
Above all he was the kind of man who, in publishing
his Pillotv Problems (part of his series of Curiosa Math-
ematica) recommended these exercises in mental arith-
metic not only as an agreeable diversion for a sleepless
couch but, more especially, as a way of driving out the
skeptical thoughts, the blasphemous thoughts, and "the
unholy thoughts, which torture with their hateful pres-
ence the fancy that would fain be pure."
And yet in all the anthology of the gentlest art compiled
by Mr. Lucas, there are no letters more charming or more
frivolous than those which Lewis Carroll wrote to any one
of the little girls in whose presence only he was a truly
free spirit and at whose courts he was happy to play jester
INTRODUCTION 7
all his days in the land. Calverley, Ruskin, Millais, Tenny-
son, the Rossettis, Ellen Terry, these pass by in the long
procession o£ his friends; but the greater part of his
thought and his genius and his devotion was given to the
children who one by one succeeded Alice Liddell in the
garden of his friendship. He met them in railway car-
riages (for he always carried a few puzzles in his pocket
against such chance encounters) and he scraped acquaint-
ance with them on the beach, being well supplied always
with safety pins in case they wanted to go in wading. His
letters to them would run like this :
November 30, 1879
I have been awfully busy, and IVe had to write heaps of
letters — wheelbarrows full, almost. And it tires me so that
generally I go to bed again the next minute after I get up:
and sometimes I go to bed again a minute before I get up!
Did you Qver hear of any one being so tired as that? . . .
Or like this:
December i(y^ 1886
My dear E , — Though rushing, rapid rivers roar be-
tween us (if you refer to the map of England, I think you'll
find that to be correct), we still remember each other, and
feel a sort of shivery affection for each other. . . .
Or like this:
December 27, 1873
My dear Gaynor, — My name is spelt with a "G," that is
to say "Dodgson!' Any one who spells it the same as that
wretch (I mean of course the Chairman of Committees in
the House of Commons) offends me deeply, and jor everl It
is a thing I can forget, but never can forgive! If you do it
again, I shall call you " 'aynor." Could you live happy with
such a name?
8 INTRODUCTION
As to dancing, my dear, I never dance, unless I am allowed
to do it in my own peculiar way. There is no use trying to de-
scribe it: it has to be seen to be believed. The last house I
tried it in, the floor broke through. But then it was a poor sort
of floor — the beams were only six inches thick, hardly worth
calling beams at all; stone arches are much more sensible,
when any dancing, of my peculiar \ind, is to be done. Did
you ever see the Rhinoceros and the Hippopotamus, at the
Zoological Gardens, trying to dance a minuet together? It is
a touching sight.
Give any message from me to Amy that you think will be
most likely to surprise her, and, believe me.
Your affectionate friend,
Lewis Carroll
Lewis Carroirs case was stated in his own words in one
comment on Alice. He wrote :
"The why of this book cannot, and need not, be put in-
to words. Those for whom a child's mind is a sealed book,
and who 3ee no divinity in a child's smile would read such
words in vain; while for any one who has ever loved one
true child, no words are needed. For he will have known
the awe that falls on one in the presence of a spirit fresh
from God's hands, on whom no shadow of sin, and but
the outermost fringe of the shadow of sorrow, has yet
fallen; he will have felt the bitter contrast between the
selfishness that spoils his best deeds and the life that is but
an overflowing love. For I think a child's first attitude to
the world is a simple love for all living things. And he
will have learned that the best work a man can do is when
he works for love's sake only, with no thought of fame or
gain or earthly reward. No deed of ours, I suppose, on this
side of the grave, is really unselfish. Yet if one can put
forth all one's powers in a task where nothing of reward is
hoped for but a little child's whispered thanks and the
INTRODUCTION 9
airy touch of a little child's pure lips, one seems to come
somewhere near to this."
The discrepancy between that solemn dedication and
the irresponsible laughter of the book it referred to would,
I fear, arouse the most animated curiosity in the clinic of
a Dr. Edward Hiram Reede or the library of a Lytton
Strachey. They can be pardoned an acute interest in the
inner springs of any fellow man who has fallen into think-
ing of all life as a process of contamination and who, as
Newman said of young Hurrell Froude at Oxford, has
"a high, severe idea of the intrinsic excellence of virginity."
But those of us whose own memories of childhood are in-
extricably interwoven with all the gay tapestry of Alice in
Wonderland would rather leave unexplored the shy, re-
treating man who left so much bubbling laughter in his
legacy to the world.
Alexander Woollcott
A »»»»»»»»»»»»»««««««««««««« A
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in
Wonderland
I Alice's Adventures I
i
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All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.
Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather.
To beg a tale o£ breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?
Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict "to begin it":
In gentler tones Secunda hopes
"There will be nonsense in it!"
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.
Anon, to sudden silence won.
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new.
In friendly chat with bird or beast —
And half believe it true.
13
And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry.
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
"The rest next time — " "It is next time!"
The happy voices cry.
Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out —
And now the tale is done.
And home we steer, a merry crew.
Beneath the setting sun.
Alice! A childish story take.
And, with a gentle hand.
Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined
In Memory's mystic band.
Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers
Pluck'd in a far-oflf land.
14
CHRISTMAS-GREETINGS
[from a fairy to a child]
Lady dear, if Fairies may
For a moment lay aside
Cunning tricks and elfish play,
'Tis at happy Christmas-tide.
We have heard the children say —
Gentle children, whom we love —
Long ago, on Christmas Day,
Came a message from above.
Still, as Christmas-tide come round,
They remember it again —
Echo still the joyful sound
"Peace on earth, good- will to men!"
Yet the hearts must childlike be
Where such heavenly guests abide;
Unto children, in their glee,
All the year is Christmas-tide!
Thus, forgetting tricks and play
For a moment. Lady dear.
We would wish you, if we may,
Merry Christmas, glad New Year!
Christmas, 1867.
15
Chapter I
Down the Rabbit-Hole
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her
sister on the bank and of having nothing to do: once or
twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading,
but it had no pictures or conversations in it, "and what is
the use of a book," thought AUce, "without pictures or
conversations?"
So she was considering, in her own mind (as well as
she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and
stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain
would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the
17
i8 Alice's adventures in wonderland
daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes
ran close by her.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did
Alice thing it so very much out of the way to hear the
Rabbit say to itself "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too
late!" (when she thought it over afterwards it occurred
to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the
time it all seemed quite natural) ; but, when the Rabbit
actually too\ a watch out of its waistcoat-pocJ^et^ and
looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her
feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never be-
fore seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a
watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she
ran across the field after it, and was just in time to see it
pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.
In another moment down went Alice after it, never
once considering how in the world she was to get out
again.
The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some
way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that
Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself
before she found herself falling down what seemed to be
a very deep well.
Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly,
for she had plenty of time as she went down to look
about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next.
First, she tried to look down and make out what she was
coming to, but it was too dark to see anything: then she
looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were
filled with cupboards and book-shelves: here and there
she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took
down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed: it was
labeled "ORANGE MARMALADE" but to her great
disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop
DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE I9
the jar, for fear of killing somebody underneath, so man-
aged to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.
"Well!" thought AHce to herself. "After such a fall as
this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down-stairs! How
brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say
anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!"
(Which was very likely true.)
Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to
an end? "I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this
time?" she said aloud. "I must be getting somewhere near
the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four
thousand miles down, I think — " (for, you see, Alice had
learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the
school-room, and though this was not a very good oppor-
tunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no
one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over)
" — yes, that's about the right distance — but then I wonder
what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?" (Alice had not
the slightest idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either,
but she thought they were nice grand words to say.)
Presently she began again. "I wonder if I shall fall right
through the earth! How funny it'll seem to come out
among the people that walk with their heads downwards!
The antipathies, I think — " (she was rather glad there
was no one listening, this time, as it didn't sound at all
the right word) " — but I shall have to ask them what the
name of the country is, you know. Please, Ma'am, is this
New Zealand? Or Australia?" (and she tried to curtsey
as she spoke — fancy, curtseying as you're falling through
the air! Do you think you could manage it?) "And what
an ignorant little girl she'll think me for asking! No, it'll
never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up some-
where."
Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so
20 ALICES ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
Alice soon began talking again. "Dinah'll miss me very
much to-night, I should think!" (Dinah was the cat.) "I
hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time.
Dinah, my dear! I wish you were down here with me!
There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might
catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know. But
do cats eat bats, I wonder?" And here Alice began to get
rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy
sort of way, "Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?" and
sometimes "Do bats eat cats?" for, you see, as she couldn't
answer either question, it didn't much matter which way
she put it. She felt that she was dozing oflf, and had just
begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with
Dinah, and was saying to her, very earnestly, "Now, Di-
nah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?" when sud-
denly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of
sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.
Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her
feet in a moment : she looked up, but it was all dark over-
head : before her was another long passage, and the White
Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not
a moment to be lost : away went Alice like the wind, and
was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, "Oh
my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!" She was
close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit
was no longer to be seen : she found herself in a long, low
hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the
roof.
There were doors all round the hall, but they were all
locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one
side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly
down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out
again.
DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE 21
Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all
made o£ solid glass: there was nothing on it but a tiny
golden key, and Alice's first idea was that this might be-
long to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the
locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any
rate it would not open any of them. However, on the sec-
S^A^//^
end time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not
noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen
inches high : she tried the little golden key in the lock, and
to her great delight it fitted!
Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small
passage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down
and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden
you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall,
and wander about among those beds of bright flowers
and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her
head through the doorway; "and even if my head would
22 Alice's adventures in wonderland
go through," thought poor AUce, "it would be of very
Httle use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could
shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew
how to begin." For, you see, so many out-of-the-way
things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think
that very few things indeed were really impossible.
There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door,
so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find
another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shut-
ting people up like telescopes : this time she found a little
bottle on it ("which certainly was not here before," said
Alice), and tied around the neck of the bottle was a paper
label, with the words "DRINK ME" beautifully printed
on it in large letters.
It was all very well to say "Drink me," but the wise
little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. "No, I'll
look first," she said, "and see whether it's marked 'poison
or not"; for she had read several nice little stories about
children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts,
and other unpleasant things, all because they would not
remember the simple rules their friends had taught them :
such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it
too long; and that, if you cut your finger very deeply with
a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten
th?t, if you drink much from a bottle marked "poison," it
is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.
However, this bottle was not marked "poison," so Alice
ventured to taste it, and, finding it very nice (it had, in
fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-
apple, roast turkey, toffy, and hot buttered toast), she very
soon finished it off.
# * * . #
# # # #
DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE 23
"What a curious feeling!" said Alice. "I must be shut-
ing up like a telescope!"
And so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches
high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she
was now the right size for going through the little door
into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a
few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further :
she felt a little nervous about this; "for it might end, you
know," said Alice to herself, "in my going out altogether,
like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?" And
she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle looks like af-
ter the candle is blov^n out, for she could not remember
ever having seen such a thing.
After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she
24 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
decided on going into the garden at once; but, alas for
poor Alice! when she got to the door, she found she had
forgotten the little golden key, and when she went back
to the table for it, she found she could not possibly reach
it: she could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she
tried her best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but
it was too slippery; and when she had tired herself out
with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.
"Come, there's no use in crying like that!" said Alice to
herself rather sharply. "I advise you to leave off this min-
ute!" She generally gave herself very good advice (though
she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded
herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes; and once
she remembered trying to box her own ears for having
cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing
against herseh, for this curious child was very fond of pre-
tending to be two people. "But it's no use now," thought
poor Alice, "to pretend to be two people! Why, there's
hardly enough of me left to make one respectable per-
son!
Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying un-
der the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small
cake, on which the words "EAT ME" were beautifully
marked in currants. "Well, Ell eat it," said Alice, "and
if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it
makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door: so
either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which
happens!'*
She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself "Which
way? Which way?", holding her hand on the top of her
head to feel which way it was growing; and she was
quite surprised to find that she remained the same size.
To be sure, this is what generally happens when one eats
cake; but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting
DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE 25
nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seem-
ed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common
way.
So she set to work, and very soon finished oflE the cake.
#
#
Chapter II
The Pool of Tears
"CuRiousER and curious-
er!" cried Alice (she was so
much surprised, that for the
moment she quite forgot
how to speak good Eng-
lish). "Now I'm opening
out like the largest telescope
that ever was! Good-bye,
feet!" (for when she looked
down at her feet, they seem-
ed to be almost out of sight,
they were getting so far
off). "Oh, my poor little
feet, I wonder who will put
on your shoes and stockings
for you now, dears? I'm
sure / sha'n't be able! I shall
be a great deal too far off to
trouble myself about you:
you must manage the best
way you can — but I must
be kind to them," thought
Alice, "or perhaps they
won't walk the way I want to go! Let me see. I'll give
them a new pair of boots every Christmas."
And she went on planning to herself how she would
manage it. "They must go by the carrier," she thought;
"and how funny it'll seem, sending presents to one's own
feet! And how odd the directions will look!
26
THE POOL OF TEARS T]
Alice s Right Foot, Esq.
Hearthrug,
near the Fender,
{with Alice's love).
Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking!"
Just at this moment her head struck against the roof of
the hall: in fact she was now rather more than nine feet
high, and she at once took up the little golden key and
hurried off to the garden door.
Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down
on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye;
but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat
down and began to cry again.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Alice, "a
great girl like you," (she might well say this), "to go on
crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!" But she
went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there
was a large pool around her, about four inches deep, and
reaching half down the hall.
After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the dis-
tance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was com-
ing. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dress-
ed, with a pair of white kid-gloves in one hand and a large
fan in the other : he came trotting along in a great hurry,
muttering to himself, as he came, "Oh! The Duchess, the
Duchess! Oh! Wo' n't she be savage if I've kept her wait-
ing!" Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help
of any one: so, when the Rabbit came near her, she be-
gan, in a low, timid voice, "If you please, Sir — " The Rab-
bit started violently, dropped the white kid-gloves and the
fan, and scurried away into the darkness as hard as he
could go.
Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was
28
ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on
talking. "Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day!
And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if
I've changed in the night .^^ Let me think: was I the same
when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remem-
ber feeling a little diiflferent. But if I'm not the same, the
next question is *Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the
great puzzle!" And she began thinking over all the chil-
dren she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see
if she could have been changed for any of them.
THE POOL OF TEARS 29
"I'm sure I'm not Ada," she said, "for her hair goes in
such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all;
and I'm sure I ca'n't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of
things, and she, oh, she knows such a very little! Besides,
she's she, and Vm I, and — oh dear, how puzzling it all
is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me
see : four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen,
and four times seven is — oh dear! I shall never get to
twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication-Table
doesn't signify : let's try Geography. London is the capital
of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome — no,
that's all wrong, I'm certain! I must have been changed
for Mabel! I'll try and say 'How doth the little — "/ and
she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying les-
sons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse
and strange, and the words did not come the same as they
used to do : —
"How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
''How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in.
With gently smiling jaws!
"Fm sure those are not the right words," said poor
Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on,
"I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live
in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play
with, and oh, ever so many lessons to learn! No, I've made
up my mind about it: il I'm Mabel, I'll stay down here!
It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying
30 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
*Come up again, dear!' I shall only lcx)k up and say 'Who
am I, then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being
that person, I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down here till
I'm somebody else' — but, oh dear!" cried Alice, with a
sudden burst of tears, "I do wish they would put their
heads down! I am so very tired of being all alone here!"
As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was
surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's
little white kid-gloves while she was talking. "How can
I have done that?" she thought. "I must be growing small
again." She got up and went to the table to measure her
self by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she
was now about two feet high, and was going on shrink-
ing rapidly : she soon found out that the cause of this was
the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just
in time to save herself from shrinking away altogether.
"That was a narrow escape!" said Alice, a good deal
frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find
herself still in existence. "And now for the garden!" And
she ran with all speed back to the little door; but, alas!
the little door was shut again, and the little golden key
was lying on the glass table as before, "and things are
worse than ever," thought the poor child, "for I never was
so small as this before, never! And I declare it's too bad,
that it is!"
As she said these words her foot slipped, and in an-
other moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt-
water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen
into the sea, "and in that case I can go back by railway,"
she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in
her life, and had come to the general conclusion that
wherever you go to on the English coast, you find a num-
ber of bathing-machines in the sea, some children digging
in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging-
THE POOL OF TEARS 3I
houses, and behind them a railway station.) However,
she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which
she had wept when she was nine feet high.
"I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as she
swam about, trying to find her way out. "I shall be pun-
ished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own
'"^^TA^f^E^
tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However,
everything is queer to-day."
Just then she heard something splashing about in the
pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out
what it was: at first she thought it must be a walrus or
hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she
was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse,
that had slipped in like herself.
"Would it be of any use, now," thought Alice, "to
speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way
down here, that I should think very likely it can talk : at
any rate, there's no harm in trying." So she began: "O
Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool ? I am very
tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!" (Alice thought
32 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she
had never done such a thing before, but she remembered
having seen, in her brother's Latin Grammar, "A mouse
— of a mouse — to a mouse — a mouse — O mouse!") The
mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to
her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.
"Perhaps it doesn't understand English," thought Alice.
"I daresay it's a French mouse, come over with William
the Conqueror." (For, with all her knowledge of history,
Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had
happened.) So she began again: "Ou est ma chatte?"
which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book.
The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and
seemed to quiver all over with fright. "Oh, I beg your
pardon!" cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the
poor animal's feelings. "I quite forgot you didn't like
cats."
"Not like cats!" cried the Mouse in a shrill passionate
voice. "Would you like cats, if you were me?"
THE POOL OF TEARS 33
"Well, perhaps not," said Alice in a soothing tone:
"don't be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you
our cat Dinah. I think you'd take a fancy to cats, if you
could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing," Alice
went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the
pool, "and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her
paws and washing her face — and she is such a nice soft
thing to nurse — and she's such a capital one for catching
mice — oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Alice again, for this
time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain
it must be really offended. "We wo'n't talk about her any
more if you'd rather not."
"We, indeed!" cried the Mouse, who was trembling
down to the end of its tail. "As if / would talk on such a
subject! Our family always hated cats: nasty, low, vulgar
things! Don't let me hear the name again!"
"I wo'n't indeed!" said Alice, in a great hurry to change
the subject of conversation. "Are you — are you fond — of —
of dogs?" The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on
eagerly: "There is such a nice little dog, near our house, I
should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you
know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it'll
fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and
beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things — I ca'n't remem-
ber half of them — and it belongs to a farmer, you know,
and he says it's so useful, it's worth a hundred pounds!
He says it kills all the rats and — oh dear!" cried Alice in a
sorrowful tone. "I'm afraid I've offended it again!" For
the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it
could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it
went.
So she called softly after it, "Mouse dear! Do come back
again, and we wo'n't talk about cats, or dogs either, if you
don't like them!" When the Mouse heard this, it turned
34 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
round and swam slowly back to her: its face was quite
pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said, in a low
trembling voice, "Let us get to the shore, and then I'll
tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is I hate
cats and dogs."
It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite
crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into
it: there was a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet,
and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and
the whole party swam to the shore.
Chapter III
A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale
They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled
on the bank — the birds with draggled feathers, the ani-
mals with their fur clinging close to them, and all drip-
ping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.
The first question of course was, how to get dry again :
they had a consultation about this, and after a few min-
utes it seemed quite natural to Alice to find herself talking
familiarly with them, as if she had known them all her
life. Indeed, she had quite a long argument with the Lory,
35
36 Alice's adventures in wonderland
who at last turned sulky, and would only say, "Fm older
than you, and must know better." And this Alice would
not allow, without knowing how old it was, and as the
Lory positively refused to tell its age, there was no more
to be said.
At last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of some
authority among them, called out "Sit down, all of you,
and listen to me! Fll soon make you dry enough!" They
all sat down at once, in a large ring, with the Mouse in
the middle. Alice kept her eyes anxiously fixed on it, for
she felt sure she would catch a bad cold if she did not get
dry very soon.
"Ahem!" said the Mouse with an important air. "Are
you all ready ? This is the driest thing I know. Silence all
round, if you please! 'William the Conqueror, whose
cause was favoured by the pope, was soon submitted to
by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late
much accustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and
Morcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria
"Ugh!" said the Lory, with a shiver.
"I beg your pardon!" said the Mouse, frowning, but
very politely. "Did you speak?"
"Not I!" said the Lory, hastily.
"I thought you did," said the Mouse. "I proceed. 'Ed-
win and Morcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria,
declared for him; and even Stigand, the patriotic arch-
bishop of Canterbury, found it advisable
"Found what?'' said the Duck.
"Found ///' the Mouse replied rather crossly: "of course
you know what *it' means."
"I know what 'it' means well enough, when / find a
thing," said the Duck: "it's generally a frog, or a worm.
The question is, what did the archbishop find?"
The Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly
A CAUCUS-RACE AND A LONG TALE 37
went on, " ' — found it advisable to go with Edgar Athel-
ing to meet William and offer him the crown. William's
conduct at first was moderate. But the insolence o£ his
Normans ' How are you getting on now, my dear?"
it continued, turning to Alice as it spoke.
"As wet as ever," said Alice in a melancholy tone: "it
doesn't seem to dry me at all."
"In that case," said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet,
"I move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate
adoption of more energetic remedies "
"Speak English!" said the Eaglet. "I don't know the
meaning of half those long words, and, what's more, I
don't believe you do either!" And the Eaglet bent down
its head to hide a smile: some of the other birds tittered
audibly.
"What I was going to say," said the Dodo in an offend-
ed tone, "was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a
Caucus-race."
"What is a Caucus-race?" said Alice; not that she much
wanted to know, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought
that somebody ought to speak, and no one else seemed in-
clined to say anything.
"Why," said the Dodo, "the best way to explain it is to
do it." (And, as you might like to try the thing yourself
some winter-day, I will tell you how the Dodo managed
it.)
First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle,
("the exact shape doesn't matter," it said,) and then all
the party were placed along the course, here and there.
There was no "One, two, three, and away!" but they be-
gan running when they liked, and left off when they
liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was
over. However, when they had been running half an hour
or so, and were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called
38 Alice's adventures in wonderland
out "The race is over!" and they all crowded round it,
panting, and asking "But who has won?"
This question the Dodo could not answer without a
great deal of thought, and it stood for a long time with
one finger pressed upon its forehead (the position in
which you usually see Shakespeare, in the pictures of
him), while the rest waited in silence. At last the Dodo
said ''Everybody has won, and all must have prizes."
"But who is to give the prizes?" quite a chorus of voices
asked.
"Why, she, of course," said the Dodo, pointing to Alice
with one finger; and the whole party at once crowded
round her, calling out, in a confused way, "Prizes!
Prizes!"
Alice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her
hand in her pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits (luck-
ily the salt-water had not got into it), and handed them
round as prizes. There was exactly one a-piece, all round.
"But she must have a prize herself, you know," said the
Mouse.
"Of course," the Dodo replied very gravely. "What else
have you got in your pocket?" it went on, turning to Alice.
"Only a thimble," said Alice sadly.
"Hand it over here," said the Dodo.
Then they all crowded round her once more, while the
Dodo solemnly presented the thimble, saying "We beg
your acceptance of this elegant thimble"; and, when it
had finished this short speech, they all cheered.
Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all
looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh ; and, as she
could not think of anything to say, she simply bowed, and
took the thimble, looking as solemn as she could.
The next thing was to eat the comfits : this caused some
noise and confusion, as the large birds complained that
A CAUCUS-RACE AND A LONG TALE
39
^fe^
they could not taste theirs, and the small ones choked and
had to be patted on the back. However, it was over at last,
and they sat down again in a ring, and begged the Mouse
to tell them something more.
"You promised to tell me your history, you know," said
Alice, "and why it is you hate — C and D," she added in a
whisper, half afraid that it would be oflfended again.
"Mine is a long and a sad tale!" said the Mouse, turning
to Alice, and sighing.
"It is a long tail, certainly," said Alice, looking down
with wonder at the Mouse's tail; "but why do you call it
sad?" And she kept on puzzling about it while the Mouse
y
40 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
was speaking, so that her idea of the tale was something
like this: — "Fury said to
a mouse, That
he met in the
house, 'Let
us both go
to law: /
will prose-
cute you, —
Come, ril
take no de-
nial: We
must have
the trial;
For really
this morn-
ing I've
nothing
to do.'
Said the
mouse to
the cur,
Such a
trial, dear
sir, With
no jury
or judge,
would
be wast-
ing our
breath.
'I'll be
judge,
I'll be
jury,
said
cun-
ning
old
Fury:
'I'll
try
the
whole
cause,
and
con-
demn
you to
death.
"You are not attending!" said the Mouse to Alice,
severely. "What are you thinking oiV
A CAUCUS-RACE AND A LONG TALE 4I
"I beg your pardon," said Alice very humbly : "you had
got to the fifth bend, I think?"
"I had notV cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.
"A knot!" said Alice, always ready to make herself use-
ful, and looking anxiously about her. "Oh, do let me help
to undo it!"
"I shall do nothing of the sort," said the Mouse, getting
up and walking away. "You insult me by talking such
nonsense!"
"I didn't mean it!" pleaded poor Alice. "But you're so
easily offended, you know!"
The Mouse only growled in reply.
"Please come back, and finish your story!" Alice called
after it. And the others all joined in chorus "Yes, please
do!" But the Mouse only shook its head impatiently, and
walked a little quicker.
"What a pity it wouldn't stay!" sighed the Lory, as soon
as it was quite out of sight. And an old Crab took the op-
portunity of saying to her daughter "Ah, my dear! Let
this be a lesson to you never to lose your temper!" "Hold
your tongue, Ma!" said the young Crab, a little snappish-
ly. "You're enough to try the patience of an oyster!"
"I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!" said Alice
aloud, addressing nobody in particular. ''Shed soon fetch
it back!"
"And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the ques-
tion?" said the Lory.
Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk
about her pet: "Dinah's our cat. And she's such a capital
one for catching mice, you ca'n't think! And oh, I wish
you could see her after the birds! Why, she'll eat a little
bird as soon as look at it!"
This speech caused a remarkable sensation among the
party. Some of the birds hurried off at once: one old Mag-
42 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
pie began wrapping itself up very carefully, remarking
"I really must be getting home: the night-air doesn't suit
my throat!" And a Canary called out in a trembling voice,
to its children, "Come away, my dears! It's high time you
were all in bed!" On various pretexts they all moved off,
and Alice was soon left alone.
"I wish I hadn't mentioned Dinah!" she said to herself
in a melancholy tone. "Nobody seems to like her, down
here, and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world! Oh, my
dear Dinah! I wonder if I shall ever see you any more!"
And here poor Alice began to cry again, for she felt very
lonely and low-spirited. In a little while, however, she
again heard a little pattering of footsteps in the distance,
and she looked up eagerly, half hoping that the Mouse
had changed his mind, and was coming back to finish his
story.
Chapter IV
The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill
It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and
looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost some-
thing; and she heard it muttering to itself, "The Duchess!
The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whisk-
ers! She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets!
Where can I have dropped them, I wonder?" Alice
guessed in a moment that it was looking for the fan and
the pair of white kid-gloves, and she very good-naturedly
began hunting about for them, but they were nowhere to
be seen — everything seemed to have changed since her
swim in the pool; and the great hall, with the glass table
and the little door, had vanished completely.
THE RABBIT SENDS IN A LITTLE BILL 43
Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunt-
ing about, and called out to her, in an angry tone, "Why,
Mary Ann, what are you doing out here? Run home this
moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick,
now!" And Alice was so much frightened that she ran
off at once in the direction it pointed to, without trying to
explain the mistake that it had made.
"He took me for his housemaid," she said to herself as
she ran. "How surprised he'll be when he finds out who
I am! But I'd better take him his fan and gloves — that is,
if I can find them." As she said this, she came upon a neat
little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate
with the name "W. RABBIT" engraved upon it. She
went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great
fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be
turned out of the house before she had found the fan and
gloves.
"How queer it seems," Alice said to herself, "to be go-
ing messages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah'U be sending
me on messages next!" and she began fancying the sort of
thing that would happen: " *Miss Alice! Come here di-
rectly, and get ready for your walk!' 'Coming in a min-
ute, nurse! But I've got to watch this mouse-hole till
Dinah comes back, and see that the mouse doesn't get
out.' Only I don't think," Alice went on, "that they'd let
Dinah stop in the house if it began ordering people about
like that!"
By this time she had found her way into a tidy little
room with a table in the window, and on it (as she had
hoped) a fan and two or three pairs of tiny white kid-
gloves : she took up the fan and a pair of the gloves, and
was just going to leave the room, when her eye fell upon
a little bottle that stood near the looking-glass. There was
no label this time with the words "DRINK ME," but nev-
44 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
ertheless she uncorked it and put it to her Ups. "I know
something interesting is sure to happen," she said to her-
self, "whenever I eat or drink anything: so I'll just see
what this bottle does. I do hope it'll make me grow large
again, for really I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little
thing!"
It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had ex-
pected: before she had drunk half the bottle, she found
her head pressing against the ceiling, and had to stoop to
save her neck from being broken. She hastily put down
the bottle, saying to herself "That's quite enough — I
hope I sha'n't grow any more — As it is, I ca'n't get out at
the door — I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much!"
Alas! It was too late to wish that! She went on growing,
and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the
floor: in another minute there was not even room for
this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one elbow
against the door, and the other arm curled round her
head. Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource,
she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the
chimney, and said to herself "Now I can do no more,
whatever happens. What will become of me?"
Luckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had
its full effect, and she grew no larger: still it was very
uncomfortable, and, as there seemed to be no sort of
chance of her ever getting out of the room again, no won-
der she felt unhappy.
"It was much pleasanter at home," thought poor Alice,
"when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and
being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I
hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole — and yet — and yet —
it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder
what can have happened to me! When I used to read
fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened.
THE RABBIT SENDS IN A LITTLE BILL 45
and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to
be a book written about me, that there ought! And when
I grow up, ril write one — but I'm grown up now," she
added in a sorrowful tone: "at least there's no room to
grow up any more here!'
"But then," thought Alice, "shall I never get any older
r:?mrf=ifh'ii''<>^
than I am now? That'll be a comfort, one way — never to
be an old woman — but then — always to have lessons to
learn! Oh, I shouldn't like that!"
"Oh, you foolish Alice!" she answered herself. "How
can you learn lessons in here? Why, there's hardly room
for you, and no room at all for any lesson-books!"
And so she went on, taking first one side and then the
other, and making quite a conversation of it altogether;
but after a few minutes she heard a voice outside, and
stopped to listen.
"Mary Ann! Mary Ann!" said the voice. "Fetch me my
gloves this moment!" Then came a little pattering of feet
46 Alice's adventures in wonderland
on the stairs. Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look
for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite
forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as
large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.
^
Presently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to
open it; but, as the door opened inwards, and Alice's el-
bow was pressed hard against it, that attempt proved a
failure. Alice heard it say to itself "Then I'll go round and
get in at the window."
*'That you wo'n't!" thought Alice, and, after waiting till
she fancied she heard the Rabbit just under the window,
she suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in
the air. She did not get hold of anything, but she heard a
little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, from
THE RABBIT SENDS IN A LITTLE BILL 47
which she concluded that it was just possible it had fallen
into a cucumber-frame, or something of the sort.
Next came an angry voice — the Rabbit's — "Pat! Pat!
Where are you?" And then a voice she had never heard
before, "Sure then I'm here! Digging for apples, yer
honour!"
"Digging for apples, indeed!" said the Rabbit angrily.
"Here! Come help me out of thisV (Sounds of more
broken glass.)
"Now tell me, Pat, what's that in the window?"
"Sure, it's an arm, yer honour!" (He pronounced it
arrum. )
"An arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size?
Why, it fills the whole window!"
"Sure, it does, yer honour: but it's an arm for all that."
"Well, it's got no business there, at any rate: go and
take it away!"
There was a long silence after this, and Alice could
only hear whispers now and then; such as "Sure, I don't
like it, yer honour, at all, at all!" "Do as I tell you, you
coward!" and at last she spread out her hand again, and
made another snatch in the air. This time there were two
little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass. "What a
number of cucumber-frames there must be!" thought
Alice. "I wonder what they'll do next! As for pulling me
out of the window, I only wish they could \ I'm sure /
don't want to stay in here any longer!"
She waited for some time without hearing anything
more : at last came a rumbling of little cart-wheels, and the
sound of a good many voices all talking together: she
made out the words: "Where's the other ladder? — Why,
I hadn't to bring but one. Bill's got the other — Bill! Fetch
it here, lad! — Here, put 'em up at this corner — No, tie 'em
together first — they don't reach half high enough yet —
48 Alice's adventures in wonderland
Oh, they'll do well enough. Don't be particular — Here,
Bill! Catch hold of this rope — Will the roof bear? — Mind
that loose slate — Oh, it's coming down! Heads below!"
(a loud crash) — "Now, who did that? — It was Bill, I
fancy — Who's to go down the chimney? — Nay, / sha'n't!
You do it! — That I wo'n't, then! — Bill's got to go down —
Here, Bill! The master says you've got to go down the
chimney!"
"Oh! So Bill's got to come down the chimney, has he?"
said Alice to herself. "Why, they seem to put everything
upon Bill! I wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good deal;
this fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but I thin\ I can kick
a little!"
She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could,
and waited till she heard a little animal (she couldn't
guess of what sort it was) scratching and scrambling
about in the chimney close above her: then, saying to
herself "This is Bill," she gave one sharp kick, and waited
to see what would happen next.
The first thing she heard was a general chorus of
"There goes Bill!" then the Rabbit's voice alone — "Catch
him, you by the hedge!" then silence, and then another
confusion of voices — "Hold up his head — Brandy now —
Don't choke him — How was it, old fellow? What hap-
pened to you? Tell us all about it!"
Last came a little feeble, squeaking voice. ("That's
Bill," thought Alice.) "Well, I hardly knov^— No more,
thank ye; I'm better now — but I'm a deal too flustered to
tell you — all I know is, something comes at me like a
Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a sky-rocket!"
"So you did, old fellow!" said the others.
"We must burn the house down!" said the Rabbit's
voice. And Alice called out, as loud as she could, "If you
do, I'll set Dinah at you!"
THE RABBIT SENDS IN A LITTLE BILL 49
There was a dead silence in-
stantly, and Alice thought to
herself "I wonder what they
will do next! I£ they had any
sense, they'd take the roof off."
After a minute or two they
began moving about again, and
Alice heard the Rabbit say "A
barrowful will do, to begin
with."
"A barrowful of what}''
thought Alice. But she had not
long to doubt, for the next mo-
ment a shower of little pebbles
came rattling in at the window,
and some of them hit her in the
face. "Fll put a stop to this,"
she said to herself, and shouted
out "You'd better not do that
again!" which produced an-
other dead silence.
Alice noticed, with some sur-
prise, that the pebbles were all
turning into little cakes as they
lay on the floor, and a bright
idea came into her head. "If I eat one of these cakes," she
thought, "it's sure to make some change in my size; and,
as it ca'n't possibly make me larger, it must make me
smaller, I suppose."
So she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to
find that she began shrinking directly. As soon as she was
small enough to get through the door, she ran out of the
house, and found quite a crowd of little animals and birds
waiting outside. The poor little Lizard, Bill, was in the
50 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
middle, being held up by two guinea-pigs, who were giv-
ing it something out of a bottle. They all made a rush at
Alice the moment she appeared; but she ran oflf as hard as
she could, and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.
"The first thing Fve got to do," said Alice to herself, as
she wandered about in the wood, "is to grow to my right
size again; and the second thing is to find my way into
that lovely garden. I think that will be the best plan."
It sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly
and simply arranged: the only difficulty was, that she had
not the smallest idea how to set about it; and, while she
was peering about anxiously among the trees, a little sharp
bark just over her head made her look up in a great hurry.
An enormous puppy was looking down at her with
large round eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, try-
ing to touch her. "Poor little thing!" said Alice, in a coax-
ing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it; but she was
terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it
might be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to
eat her up in spite of all her coaxing.
Hardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit
of stick, and held it out to the puppy: whereupon the
puppy jumped into the air oflf all its feet at once, with a
yelp of delight, and rushed at the stick, and made believe
to worry it: then Alice dodged behind a great thistle, to
keep herself from being run over; and, the moment she
appeared on the other side, the puppy made another rush
at the stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry to
get hold of it: then Alice, thinking it was very like having
a game of play with a cart-horse, and expecting every mo-
ment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle
again: then the puppy began a series of short charges at
the stick, running a very little way forwards each time and
THE RABBIT SENDS IN A LITTLE BILL 51
a long way back, and barking hoarsely all the while, till
at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with its tongue
hanging out o£ its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.
This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making
her escape : so she set off at once, and ran till she was quite
tired and out of breath, and till the puppy's bark sounded
quite faint in the distance.
52 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
"And yet what a dear little puppy it was!" said Alice,
as she leant against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned
herself with one of the leaves. "I should have liked teach-
ing it tricks very much, if — if I'd only been the right size
to do it! Oh dear! I'd nearly forgotten that I've got to
grow up again! Let me see — how is it to be managed? I
suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but
the great question is *What?' "
The great question certainly was "What?" Alice looked
all round her at the flowers and the blades of grass, but
she could not see anything that looked like the right thing
to eat or drink under the circumstances. There was a large
mushroom growing near her, about the same height as
herself; and, when she had looked under it, and on both
sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she might
as well look and see what was on top of it.
She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the
edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met
those of a large blue caterpillar, that was sitting on the top,
with its arm folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and
taking not the smallest notice of her or of anything else.
Chapter V
Advice from a Caterpillar
1 HE Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some
time in silence : at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out
of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
"Who are you?'' said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversa-
tion. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I — I hardly know. Sir,
just at present — at least I know who I was when I got up
this morning, but I think I must have been changed sev-
eral times since then."
53
V
54 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
"What do you mean by that?" said the Caterpillar,
sternly. "Explain yourself!"
"I ca'n't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir," said Alice, "be-
cause I'm not myself, you see."
"I don't see," said the Caterpillar.
"I'm afraid I ca'n't put it more clearly," Alice replied,
very politely, "for I ca'n't understand it myself, to begin
with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very
confusing."
"It isn't," said the Caterpillar.
"Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet," said Alice;
"but when you have to turn into a chrysalis — you will
some day, you know — and then after that into a butterfly,
I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?"
"Not a bit," said the Caterpillar.
"Well, perhaps your feelings may be different," said
Alice: "all I know is, it would feel very queer to mey
"You!" said the Caterpillar contemptuously. "Who are
you:
Which brought them back again to the beginning of
the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Cater-
pillar's making such very short remarks, and she drew
herself up and said, very gravely, "I think you ought to
tell me who you are, first."
"Why?" said the Caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question; and, as Alice
could not think of any good reason, and the Caterpillar
seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she
turned away.
"Come back!" the Caterpillar called after her. "I've
something important to say!"
This sounded promising, certainly. Alice turned and
came back again.
"Keep your temper," said the Caterpillar.
ADVICE FROM A CATERPILLAR 55
"Is that all?" said Alice, swallowing down her anger as
well as she could.
"No/' said the Caterpillar.
Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had noth-
ing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her some-
thing worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away
without speaking; but at last it unfolded its arms, took
the hookah out of its mouth again, and said "So you think
you're changed, do you?"
"I'm afraid I am. Sir," said Alice. "I ca'n't remember
things as I used — and I don't keep the same size for ten
minutes together!"
"Ca'n't remember what things?" said the Caterpillar.
"Well, I've tried to say 'How doth the little busy bee*
but it all came different!" Alice replied in a very melan-
choly voice.
"Repeat 'You are old, Father William,' " said the Cater-
pillar.
Alice folded her hands, and began: —
56 Alice's adventures in wonderland
**You are old, Father William'' the young man said
*'And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head —
Do you thin\, at your age, it is right?''
"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
'7 feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none.
Why, I do it again and again,"
You are old," said the youth, ''as I mentioned before.
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a bac\-somersault in at the door —
Fray, what is the reason of that?"
In my youth" said the sage, as he shoo\ his grey loc\s,
'7 \ept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment — one shilling the box —
Allow me to sell you a couple?"
ADVICE FROM A CATERPILLAR
57
You are old" said the youth, '* and your jaws are too wea\
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the bea\ —
Fray, how did you manage to do it?"
In my youth" said his father, "I too\ to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw
Has lasted the rest of my life"
You are old," said the youth, *'one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose —
What made you so awfully clever?"
I have answered three questions, and that is enough,
Said his father. ''Don't give yourself air si
Do you thin\ I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or Fll l^icl^ you downstairs!"
58 Alice's adventures in wonderland
"That is not said right," said the Caterpillar.
"Not quite right, I'm afraid," said Alice, timidly: "some
of the words have got altered."
"It is wrong from beginning to end," said the Caterpil-
lar, decidedly; and there was silence for some minutes.
The Caterpillar was the first to speak.
"What size do you want to be?" it asked.
"Oh, Fm not particular as to size," Alice hastily replied;
"only one doesn't like changing so often, you know."
"I dont know," said the Caterpillar.
Alice said nothing: she had never been so much con-
tradicted in all her life before, and she felt that she was
losing her temper.
"Are you content now?" said the Caterpillar.
"Well, I should like to be a little larger. Sir, if you
wouldn't mind," said Alice: "three inches is such a
wretched height to be."
"It is a very good height indeed!" said the Caterpillar
ADVICE FROM A CATERPILLAR 59
angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly
three inches high) .
''But I'm not used to it!" pleaded poor Alice in a piteous
tone. And she thought to herself "I wish the creatures
wouldn't be so easily offended!"
"You'll get used to it in time," said the Caterpillar; and
it put the hookah into its mouth, and began smoking
again.
This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak
again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah
out of its mouth, and yawned once or twice, and shook it-
self. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled
away into the grass, merely remarking, as it went, "One
side will make you grow taller, and the other side will
make you grow shorter."
"One side of what} The other side of what}'' thought
Alice to herself.
"Of the mushroom," said the Caterpillar, just as if she
had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of
sight.
Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom
for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides
of it; and, as it was perfectly round, she found this a very
difficult question. However, at last she stretched her arms
round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of
the edge with each hand.
"And now which is which?" she said to herself, and
nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect. The
next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin :
it had struck her foot!
She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden
change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost, as
she was shrinking rapidly: so she set to work at once to
eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed so closely
6o Alice's adventures in wonderland
against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her
mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a
morsel of the left-hand bit.
^ TT W TP TT
Jfc ^t, -jf- 4L
^P ^r ^ ^T
^ ^ ^ TT
"Come, my head's free at last!" said Alice in a tone of
delight, which changed into alarm in another moment,
when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be
found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an
immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk
out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.
"What can all that green stuflE be?" said Alice. "And
where have my shoulders got to ? And oh, my poor hands,
how is it I ca'n't see you?" She was moving them about,
as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little
shaking among the distant green leaves.
As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands
up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them,
and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about
easily in any direction, like a serpent. She had just suc-
ceeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was
going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be
nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been
wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a
hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was
beating her violently with its wings.
"Serpent!" screamed the Pigeon.
"I'm not a serpent!" said Alice indignantly. "Let me
alone!"
"Serpent, I say again!" repeated the Pigeon, but in a
more subdued tone, and added, with a kind of sob, "I've
tried every way, but nothing seems to suit them!"
ADVICE FROM A CATERPILLAR 6l
"I haven't the last idea what you're talking about," said
Alice.
"I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and
I've tried hedges," the Pigeon went on, without attending
to her; "but those serpents! There's no pleasing them!"
Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought
there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon
had finished.
"As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs,'^
said the Pigeon; "but I must be on the look-out for ser-
pents, night and day! Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep
these three weeks!"
"I'm very sorry you've been annoyed," said Alice, who
was beginning to see its meaning.
"And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood,"
continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, "and
just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they
must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh,
Serpent!"
"But I'm not a serpent, I tell you!" said Alice. "I'm a —
Fm a "
"Well! What are you?" said the Pigeon. "I can see
you're trying to invent something!"
"I — I'm a little girl," said Alice, rather doubtfully, as
she remembered the number of changes she had gone
through, that day.
"A likely story indeed!" said the Pigeon, in a tone of the
deepest contempt. "I've seen a good many little girls in my
time, but never one with such a neck as that! No, no!
You're a serpent; and there's no use denying it. I suppose
you'll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!"
"I have tasted eggs, certainly," said Alice, who was a
very truthful child; "but little girls eat eggs quite as much
as serpents do, you know."
62 Alice's adventures in wonderland
"I don't believe it," said the Pigeon; "but if they do,
then they're a kind of serpent: that's all I can say."
This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite
silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the op-
portunity of adding "You're looking for eggs, I know that
well enough; and what does it matter to me whether
you're a little girl or a serpent?"
"It matters a good deal to md*," said Alice hastily; "but
I'm not looking for eggs, as it happens; and, if I was, I
shouldn't want yours: I don't like them raw."
"Well, be oflf, then!" said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as
it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down
among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept get-
ting entangled among the branches, and every now and
then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she re-
membered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her
hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at
one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller,
and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bring-
ing herself down to her usual height.
It was so long since she had been anything near the
right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got
used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to her-
self, as usual, "Come, there's half my plan done now!
How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what
I'm going to be, from one minute to another! However,
I've got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get
into that beautiful garden — how is that to be done, I won-
der?" As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open
place, with a little house in it about four feet high. "Who-
ever lives there," thought Alice, "it'll never do to come
upon them this size : why, I should frighten them out of
their wits!" So she began nibbling at the right-hand bit
PIG AND PEPPER 63
again, and did not venture to go near the house till she
had brought herself down to nine inches high.
Chapter VI
Pig and Pepper
For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and
wondering what to do next, when suddenly a footman in
livery came running out of the wood — (she considered
him to be a footman because he was in livery : otherwise,
judging by his face only, she would have called him a
fish) — and rapped loudly at the door with his knuckles. It
was opened by another footman in livery, with a round
face, and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen, Alice
noticed, had powdered hair that curled all over their
heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all about,
and crept a little way out of the wood to listen.
The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his
arm a great letter, nearly as large as himself, and this he
handed over to the other, saying, in a solemn tone, "For
the Duchess. An invitation from the Queen to play cro-
quet." The Frog-Footman repeated, in the same solemn
tone, only changing the order of the words a little, "From
the Queen. An invitation for the Duchess to play croquet."
Then they both bowed, and their curls got entangled
together.
Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back
into the wood for fear of their hearing her; and, when
she next peeped out, the Fish-Footman was gone, and the
64 ALICE^S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
Other was sitting on the ground near the door, staring
stupidly up into the sky.
AUce went timidly up to the door, and knocked.
"There's no sort of use in knocking," said the Footman,
"and that for two reasons. First, because Fm on the same
side of the door as you are : secondly, because they're mak-
ing such a noise inside, no one could possibly hear you."
And certainly there was a most extraordinary noise going
on within — a constant howling and sneezing, and every
now and then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been
broken to pieces.
"Please, then," said Alice, "how am I to get in?"
PIG AND PEPPER 65
"There might be some sense in your knocking," the
Footman went on, without attending to her, "if we had
the door between us. For instance, i£ you were inside, you
might knock, and I could let you out, you know." He
was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking,
and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. "But perhaps
he ca'n't help it," she said to herself; "his eyes are so very
nearly at the top of his head. But at any rate he might
answer questions. — How am I to get in?" she repeated,
aloud.
"I shall sit here," the Footman remarked, "till to-mor-
row "
At this moment the door of the house opened, and a
large plate came skimming out, straight at the Footman's
head: it just grazed his nose, and broke to pieces against
one of the trees behind him.
" or next day, maybe," the Footman continued in
the same tone, exactly as if nothing had happened.
"How am I to get in?" asked Alice again, in a louder
tone.
''Are you to get in at all?" said the Footman. "That's
the first question, you know."
It was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so.
"It's really dreadful," she muttered to herself, "the way all
the creatures argue. It's enough to drive one crazy!"
The F'ootman seemed to think this a good opportunity
for repeating his remark, with variations. "I shall sit
here," he said, "on and off, for days and days."
"But what am / to do?" said Alice.
"Anything you like," said the Footman, and began
whistling.
"Oh, there's no use in talking to him," said Alice des-
perately: "he's perfectly idiotic!" And she opened the door
and went in.
66 Alice's adventures in wonderland
The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full
of smoke from one end to the other : the Duchess was sit-
ting on a three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby :
the cook was leaning over the fire, stirring a large caul-
dron which seemed to be full of soup.
"There's certainly too much pepper in that soup!" Alice
said to herself, as well as she could for sneezing.
There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the
Duchess sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was
sneezing and howling alternately without a moment's
pause. The only two creatures in the kitchen, that did not
sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat, which was lying on
the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.
"Please would you tell me," said Alice, a little timidly,
for she was not quite sure whether it was good manners
for her to speak first, "why your cat grins like that?"
"It's a Cheshire-Cat," said the Duchess, "and that's
why. Pig!"
She said the last word with such sudden violence that
Alice quite jumped; but she saw in another moment that
it was addressed to the baby, and not to her, so she took
courage, and went on again: —
"I didn't know that Cheshire-Cats always grinned; in
fact, I didn't know that cats could grin."
"They all can," said the Duchess; "and most of 'em do."
"I don't know of any that do," Alice said very politely,
feeling quite pleased to have got into a conversation.
"You don't know much," said the Duchess; "and that's
a fact."
Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and
thought it would be as well to introduce some other sub-
ject of conversation. While she was trying to fix on one,
the cook took the cauldron of soup off the fire, and at once
set to work throwing everything within her reach at the
PIG AND PEPPER
67
Duchess and the baby — the fire-irons came first; then fol-
lowed a shower of sauce-pans, plates, and dishes. The
Duchess took no notice of them even when they hit her;
and the baby was howling so much already, that it was
quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.
"Oh, please mind what youVe doing!" cried Alice,
jumping up and down in an agony of terror. "Oh, there
goes his precious nose!" as an unusually large saucepan
flew close by it, and very nearly carried it off.
"If everybody minded their own business," the Duchess
said, in a hoarse growl, "the world would go round a deal
faster than it does."
"Which would not be an advantage," said Alice, who
felt very glad to get an opportunity of showing off a little
of her knowledge. "Just think what work it would make
with the day and night! You see the earth takes twenty-
four hours to turn round on its axis "
68 ALICE^S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
"Talking o£ axes," said the Duchess, "chop of? her
head!"
AUce glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she
meant to take the hint; but the cook was busily stirring
the soup, and seemed not to be listening, so she went on
again: "Twenty-four hours, I thin\\ or is it twelve? I "
"Oh, don't bother meV said the Duchess. "I never could
abide figures!" And with that she began nursing her child
again, singing a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giv-
ing it a violent shake at the end of every line : —
a
ft
Spea\ roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes:
He only does it to annoy,
Because he \nows it teases!
Chorus
(in which the cook and the baby joined): —
'*Wow\ wow! wowl"
While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song,
she kept tossing the baby violently up and down, and the
poor little thing howled so, that Alice could hardly hear
the words : —
t(
I spea^ severely to my boy,
I beat him when he sneezes;
For he can thoroughly enjoy
The pepper when he please si"
Chorus
''Wow! wow! wow!''
PIG AND PEPPER
69
"Here! You may nurse it a bit, if you like!" the Duchess
said to AHce, flinging the baby at her as she spoke. "I
must go and get ready to play croquet with the Queen,"
and she hurried out of the room. The cook threw a frying-
pan after her as she went, but it just missed her.
Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a
queer-shaped little creature, and held out its arms and legs
in all directions, "just like a star-fish," thought Alice. The
poor little thing was snorting like a steam-engine when
she caught it, and kept doubling itself up and straighten-
ing itself out again, so that altogether, for the first minute
or two, it was as much as she could do to hold it.
As soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing
it (which was to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then
70 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERI,AND
keep tight hold o£ its right ear and left foot, so as to pre-
vent its undoing itself), she carried it out into the open
air. "If I don't take this child away with me," thought
Alice, "they're sure to kill it in a day or two. Wouldn't
it be murder to leave it behind?" She said the last words
out loud, and the little thing grunted in reply (it had left
off sneezing by this time). "Don't grunt," said Alice;
"that's not at all a proper way of expressing yourself."
The baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anx-
iously into its face to see what was the matter with it.
There could be no doubt that it had a very turn-up nose,
much more like a snout than a real nose : also its eyes were
getting extremely small for a baby: altogether Alice did
not like the look of the thing at all. "But perhaps it was
only sobbing," she thought, and looked into its eyes again,
to see if there were any tears.
No, there were no tears. "If you're going to turn into a
pig, my dear," said Alice, seriously, "I'll have nothing
more to do with you. Mind now!" The poor little thing
sobbed again (or grunted, it was impossible to say which),
and they went on for some while in silence.
Alice was just beginning to think to herself, "Now,
what am I to do with this creature, when I get it home?"
when it grunted again, so violently, that she looked down
into its face in some alarm. This time there could be no
mistake about it : it was neither more nor less than a pig, .
and she felt that it would be quite absurd for her to carry
it any further.
So she set the little creature down, and felt quite re-
lieved to see it trot away quietly into the wood. "If it had
grown up," she said to herself, "it would have made a
dreadfully ugly child: but it makes rather a handsome
pig, I think." And she began thinking over other children
PIG AND PEPPER
71
^^^
'-^^-^S:'^
she knew, who might do
very well as pigs, and was
just saying to herself "if one
only knew the right way to
change them " when she
was a little startled by seeing
the Cheshire-Cat sitting on a
bough of a tree a few yards
off.
The Cat only grinned
when it saw Alice. It looked
good-natured, she thought:
still it had very long claws
and a great many teeth, so
she felt that it ought to be
treated with respect.
"Cheshire-Puss," she began, rather timidly, as she did
not at all know whether it would like the name : however,
it only grinned a little wider. "Come, it's pleased so far,"
thought Alice, and she went on. "Would you tell me,
please, which way I ought to go from here?"
^^'■.y-vi''
72 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get
to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where " said Ahce.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the
Cat.
" so long as I get somewhere'/ Alice added as an ex-
planation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only
walk long enough."
Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried an-
other question. "What sort of people live about here?"
"In that direction," the Cat said, waving its right paw
round, "lives a Hatter: and in that direction," waving the
other paw, "lives a March Hare. Visit either you like:
they're both mad."
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice re-
marked.
"Oh, you ca'n't help that," said the Cat : "we're all mad
here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have
come here."
Alice didn't think that proved it at all: however, she
went on: "And how do you know that you're mad?"
"To begin with," said the Cat, "a dog's not mad. You
grant that?"
"I suppose so," said Alice.
"Well, then," the Cat went on, "you see a dog growls
when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now
/ growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm
angry. Therefore I'm mad."
"/ call it purring, not growling," said Alice.
"Call it what you like," said the Cat. "Do you play cro-
quet with the Queen to-day?"
PIG AND PEPPER 73
"I should like it very much," said Alice, "but I haven't
been invited yet."
"You'll see me there," said the Cat, and vanished.
Alice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so
well used to queer things happening. While she was still
looking at the place where it had been, it suddenly ap-
peared again.
"By-the-bye, what became of the baby?" said the Cat.
"I'd nearly forgotten to ask."
"It turned into a pig," Alice answered very quietly, just
as if the Cat had come back in a natural way.
"I thought it would," said the Cat, and vanished again.
Alice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but
it did not appear, and after a minute or two she walked on
in the direction in which the March Hare was said to live.
^'I've seen hatters before," she said to herself: "the March
Hare will be much the most interesting, and perhaps, as
this is May, it wo'n't be raving mad — at least not so mad
74 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
as it was in March." As she said this, she looked up, and
there was the Cat again, sitting on a branch of a tree.
"Did you say *pig/ or 'fig'?" said the Cat.
"I said 'pig'?" repUed AUce; "and I wish you wouldn't
keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly : you make one
quite giddy!"
"All right," said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite
slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending
with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of
it had gone.
"Well! I've often seen a cat without a grin," thought
Alice; "but a grin without a cat! It's the most curious
thing I ever saw in all my life!"
She had not gone much farther before she came in sight
of the house of the March Hare : she thought it must be
the right house, because the chimneys were shaped like
ears and the roof was thatched with fur. It was so large a
house, that she did not like to go nearer till she had nib-
bled some more of the left-hand bit of mushroom, and
raised herself to about two feet high: even then she
walked up towards it rather timidly, saying to herself
"Suppose it should be raving mad after all! I almost wish
I'd gone to see the Hatter instead!"
Chapter VII
A Mad Tea-Party
There was a table set out under a tree in front of the
house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having
tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast
asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, rest-
A MAD TEA-PARTY 75
ing their elbows on it, and talking over its head. *'Very
uncomfortable for the Dormouse," thought Alice; "only
as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind."
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowd-
ed together at one corner of it. "No room! No room!" they
cried out when they saw Alice coming. "There's plenty
of room!" said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a
large arm-chair at one end of the table.
"Have some wine," the March Hare said in an encour-
aging tone»
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing
on it but tea. "I don't see any wine," she remarked.
"There isn't any," said the March Hare.
"Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it," said Alice
angrily.
"It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being
invited," said the March Hare.
"I didn't know it was your table," said Alice: "it's laid
for a great many more than three."
"Your hair wants cutting," said the Hatter. He had
been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity,
and this was his first speech.
"You should learn not to make personal remarks,"
Alice said with some severity: "It's very rude."
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this;
but all he said was "Why is a raven like a writing-desk.?^"
"Come, we shall have some fun now!" thought Alice.
"I'm glad they've begun asking riddles — I believe I can
guess that," she added aloud.
"Do you mean that you think you can find out the
answer to it?" said the March Hare.
"Exactly so," said Alice.
"Then you should say what you mean," the March
Hare went on.
76 ALICE^S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
"I do," Alice hastily replied; "at least — at least I mean
what I say — that's the same thing, you know."
"Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hatter. "Why, you
might just as well say that 1 see what I eat' is the same
thing as 'I eat what I see'!"
"You might just as well say," added the March Hare,
"that 1 like what I get' is the same thing as 'I get what I
like'!"
"You might just as well say," added the Dormouse,
which seemed to be talking in its sleep, "that 'I breathe
when I sleep' is the same thing as *I sleep when I breathe'!"
"It is the same thing with you," said the Hatter, and
here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for
a minute, while Alice thought over all she could remem-
ber about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn't much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. "What
day of the month is it?" he said, turning to Alice: he had
taken his watch out of his pocket,, and was looking at it
A MAD TEA-PARTY 77
uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it
to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said "The fourth."
"Two days wrong!" sighed the Hatter. "I told you but-
ter wouldn't suit the works!" he added, looking angrily at
the March Hare.
"It was the best butter," the March Hare meekly re-
plied.
"Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well," the
Hatter grumbled : "you shouldn't have put it in with the
bread-knife."
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it
gloomily : then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked
at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say
than his first remark, "It was the best butter, you know."
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some
curiosity. "What a funny watch!" she remarked. "It tells
the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!"
"Why should it?" muttered the Hatter. "Does your
watch tell you what year it is?"
"Of course not," Alice replied very readily: "but that's
because it stays the same year for such a long time to-
gether."
"Which is just the case with mine^' said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter's remark
seemed to her to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it
was certainly English. "I don't quite understand you,"
she said, as politely as she could.
"The Dormouse is asleep again," said the Hatter, and
he poured a little hot tea upon its nose.
The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said,
without opening its eyes, "Of course, of course: just what
I was going to remark myself."
((-
(('
yS Alice's adventures in wonderland
"Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said,
turning to Ahce again.
"No, I give it up," AHce repUed. "What's the answer?"
1 haven't the sUghtest idea," said the Hatter.
'Nor I," said the March Hare.
AHce sighed wearily. "I think you might do something
better with the time," she said, "than wasting it in asking
riddles that have no answers."
"If you knew Time as well as I do," said the Hatter,
"you wouldn't talk about wasting /*/. It's him,'"
"I don't know what you mean," said Alice.
"Of course you don't!" the Hatter said, tossing his head
contemptuously. "I dare say you never even spoke to
Time!"
"Perhaps not," Alice cautiously replied; "but I know I
have to beat time when I learn music."
"Ah! That accounts for it," said the Hatter. "He wo'n't
stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with
him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the clock.
For instance, suppose it were nine o'clock in the morning,
just time to begin lessons: you'd only have to whisper a
hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling!
Half-past one, time for dinner!"
("I only wish it was," the March Hare said to itself in a
whisper.)
"That would be grand, certainly," said Alice thought-
fully; "but then — I shouldn't be hungry for it, you know."
"Not at first, perhaps," said the Hatter: "but you could
keep it to half-past one as long as you liked."
"Is that the way you manage?" Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully. "Not I!" he re-
plied. "We quarreled last March just before he went
mad, you know " (pointing with his teaspoon at the
A MAD TEA-PARTY
79
March Hare,) " it was at the great concert given by
the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing
* Twinkle, twinkle, little bat I
How I wonder what you re at!'
You know the song, perhaps?"
"I've heard something Hke it," said AUce.
"It goes on, you know," the Hatter continued, "in this
way: —
'Up above the world you fly,
Li\e a tea-tray in the s\y.
TwinJ^le, twin^le-
y tt
Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in
its sleep ''Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twin\le " and
went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop.
"Well, rd hardly finished the first verse," said the Hat-
ter, "when the Queen bawled out *He's murdering the
time! Off with his head!' "
'>/
8o Alice's adventures in wonderland
"How dreadfully savage!" exclaimed Alice.
"And ever since that," the Hatter went on in a mourn-
ful tone, "he wo'n't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock
now."
A bright idea came into Alice's head. "Is that the reason
so many tea-things are put out here?" she asked.
"Yes, that's it," said the Hatter with a sigh: "it's always
tea-time, and we've no time to wash the things between
whiles."
"Then you keep moving round, I suppose?" said Alice.
"Exactly so," said the Hatter: "as the things get used
up.
"But what happens when you come to the beginning
again?" Alice ventured to ask.
"Suppose we change the subject," the March Hare in-
terrupted, yawning. "I'm getting tired of this. I vote the
young lady tells us a story."
"I'm afraid I don't know one," said Alice, rather
alarmed at the proposal.
"Then the Dormouse shall!" they both cried. "Wake
up. Dormouse!" And they pinched it on both sides at
once.
The Dormouse slowly opened its eyes. "I wasn't asleep,"
it said in a hoarse, feeble voice, "I heard every word you
fellows were saying."
"Tell us a story!" said the March Hare.
"Yes, please do!" pleaded Alice.
"And be quick about it," added the Hatter, "or you'll
be asleep again before it's done."
"Once upon a time there were three little sisters," the
Dormouse began in 'a great hurry; "and their names were
Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie ; and they lived at the bottom of a
well "
A MAD TEA-PARTY 8l
"What did they live on?" said AUce, who always took
a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.
"They lived on treacle/' said the Dormouse, after think-
ing a minute or two.
"They couldn't have done that, you know," Alice gent-
ly remarked. "They'd have been ill."
"So they were," said the Dormouse; ''pery ill."
Alice tried a little to fancy to herself what such an ex-
traordinary way of living would be like, but it puzzled
her too much: so she went on: "But why did they live at
the bottom of a well?"
"Take some more tea," the March Hare said to Alice^
very earnestly.
"I've had nothing yet," Alice replied in an offended
tone: "so I ca'n't take more."
"You mean you ca'n't take less,'' said the Hatter: "it's
very easy to take more than nothing."
"Nobody asked your opinion," said Alice.
"Who's making personal remarks now?" the Hatter
asked triumphantly.
Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she
helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then
turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her question^
"Why did they live at the bottom of a well?"
The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think
about it, and then said "It was a treacle-well."
"There's no such thing!" Alice was beginning very an-
grily, but the Hatter and the March Hare went "Sh! Sh!"
and the Dormouse sulkily remarked "If you ca'n't be
civil, you'd better finish the story for yourself."
"No, please go on!" Alice said very humbly. "I wo'n't
interrupt you again. I dare say there may be one/'
"One, indeed!" said the Dormouse indignantly. How-
82 Alice's adventures in wonderland
ever, he consented to go on. "And so these three httle sis-
ters— they were learning to draw, you know "
"What did they draw?" said Ahce, quite forgetting her
promise.
"Treacle," said the Dormouse, without considering at
all, this time.
"I want a clean cup," interrupted the Hatter: "let's all
move one place on."
He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed
him: the March Hare moved into the Dormouse's place,
and Alice rather unwillingly took the place of the March
Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any advan^
tage from the change; and Alice was a good deal worse
off than before, as the March Hare had just upset the
milk-jug into his plate.
Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she
began very cautiously: "But I don't understand. Where
did they draw the treacle from?"
"You can draw water out of a water-well," said the
Hatter; "so I should think you could draw treacle out of
a treacle-well — eh, stupid?"
"But they were in the well," Alice said to the Dormouse,
not choosing to notice this last remark.
"Of course they were," said the Dormouse: "well in."
This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the
Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it.
"They were learning to draw," the Dormouse went on,
yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very
sleepy; "and they drew all manner of things — everything
that begins with an M "
"Why with an M?" said Alice.
"Why not?" said the March Hare.
Alice was silent.
The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was
m
A MAD TEA-PARTY 83
going oflf into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hat-
ter, it woke up again with a little shriek, and went on:
" that begins with an M, such as mouse-traps, and the
moon, and memory, and muchness — you know you say
'^/A^/T?
things are 'much of a muchness' — did you ever see such a
thing as a drawing o£ a muchness!"
"Really, now you ask me," said Alice, very much con-
fused, "I don't think "
"Then you shouldn't talk," said the Hatter.
This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear :
she got up in great disgust, and walked oflf: the Dormouse
fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the
least notice of her going, though she looked back once or
twice, half hoping that they would call after her: the last
time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse
into the teapot.
"At any rate I'll never go there again!" said Alice, as
she picked her way through the wood. "It's the stupidest
tea-party I ever was at in all my life!"
84 ALICES ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees
had a door leading right into it. "That's very curious!"
she thought. "But everything's curious to-day. I think I
may as well go in at once." And in she went.
Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close
to the little glass table. "Now, I'll manage better this
time," she said to herself, and began by taking the little
golden key, and unlocking the door that led into the gar-
den. Then she set to work nibbling at the mushroom (she
had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a
foot high: then she walked down the little passage: and
then — she found herself at last in the beautiful garden,
among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.
Chapter VIII
The Queen's Croquet Ground
A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden:
the roses growing on it were white, but there were three
gardeners at it, busily painting them red. Alice thought
this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch
them, and, just as she came up to them, she heard one of
them say "Look out now, Five! Don't go splashing paint
over me like that!"
"I couldn't help it," said Five, in a sulky tone. "Seven
jogged my elbow."
On which Seven looked up and said "That's right, Five!
Always lay the blame on others!"
''Youd better not talk!" said Five. "I heard the Queen
say only yesterday you deserved to be beheaded."
"What for?" said the one who had spoken first.
THE QUEEN S CROQUET-GROUND
85
'C^^^S^
"That's none o£ your business, Two!" said Seven.
"Yes, it is his business!" said Five. "And I'll tell him —
it was for bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions."
Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun "Well,
of all the unjust things — " when his eye chanced to fall
upon Alice, as she stood watching them, and he checked
himself suddenly : the others looked round also, and all of
them bowed low.
"Would you tell me, please," said Alice, a little timidly,
"why you are painting those roses?"
Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two
began, in a low voice, "Why, the fact is, you see. Miss, this
here ought to have been a red rose-tree, and we put a
white one in by mistake; and, if the Queen was to find it
out, we should all have our heads cut oflf, you know. So
86 Alice's adventures in wonderland
you see. Miss, we're doing our best, afore she comes, to — "
At this moment. Five, who had been anxiously looking
across the garden, called out "The Queen! The Queen!"
and the three gardeners instantly threw themselves flat
upon their faces. There was a sound of many footsteps,
and Alice looked round, eager to see the Queen.
First came ten soldiers carrying clubs: these were all
shaped like the three gardeners, oblong and flat, with their
hands and feet at the corners: next the ten courtiers:
these were ornamented all over with diamonds, and
walked two and two, as the soldiers did. After these came
the royal children: there were ten of them, and the little
dears came jumping merrily along, hand in hand, in
couples : they were all ornamented with hearts. Next came
the guests, mostly Kings and Queens, and among them
Alice recognized the White Rabbit: it was talking in a
hurried nervous manner, smiling at everything that was
said, and went by without noticing her. Then followed
the Knave of Hearts, carrying the King's crown on a
crimson velvet cushion; and, last of all this grand proces-
sion, came THE KING AND THE QUEEN OF
HEARTS.
Alice was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie
down on her face like the three gardeners, but she could
not remember ever having heard of such a rule at pro-
cessions; "and besides, what would be the use of a pro-
cession," thought she, "if people had all to lie down on
their faces, so that they couldn't see it?" So she stood
where she was, and waited.
When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all
stopped and looked at her, and the Queen said, severely,
"Who is this?" She said it to the Knave of Hearts, who
only bowed and smiled in reply.
"Idiot!" said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently;
THE QUEEN S CROQUET-GROUND
87
and, turning to Alice, she went on: "What's your name,
child?"
"My name is Alice, so please your Majesty," said Alice
very politely; but she added, to herself, "Why, they're only
a pack of cards, after all. I needn't be afraid of them!"
"And who are these?" said the Queen, pointing to the
three gardeners who were lying round the rose-tree; for,,
you see, as they were lying on their faces, and the pattern
on their backs was the same as the rest of the pack, she
88 Alice's adventures in wonderland
could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or
courtiers, or three of her own children.
"How should / know?" said Alice, surprised at her own
courage. "It's no business of miner
The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring
at her for a moment like a wild beast, began screaming
"Off with her head! Off with "
"Nonsense!" said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and
the Queen was silent.
The King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said
"Consider, my dear: she is only a child!"
The Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to
the Knave "Turn them over!"
The Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot.
"Get up!" said the Queen in a shrill, loud voice, and the
three gardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing
to the King, the Queen, the royal children, and everybody
else.
"Leave off that!" screamed the Queen. "You make me
giddy." And then, turning to the rose-tree, she went on
"What have you been doing here?"
"May it please your Majesty," said Two, in a very hum-
ble tone, going down on one knee as he spoke, "we were
trying — "
"/ see!" said the Queen, who had meanwhile been exam-
ining the roses. "Off with their heads!" and the proces-
sion moved on, three of the soldiers remaining behind to
execute the unfortunate gardeners, who ran to Alice for
protection.
"You sha'n't be beheaded!" said Alice, and she put
them into a large flower-pot that stood near. The three
soldiers wandered about for a minute or two, looking for
them, and then quietly marched off after the others.
"Are their heads off?" shouted the Queen.
THE queen's croquet-ground 89
"Their heads are gone, if it please your Majesty!" the
soldiers shouted in reply.
"That's right!" shouted the Queen. "Can you play
croquet?"
The soldiers were silent, and looked at Alice, as the
question was evidently meant for her.
"Yes!" shouted Alice.
"Come on, then!" roared the Queen, and Alice joined
the procession, wondering very much what would hap-
pen next.
"It's — it's a very fine day!" said a timid voice at her side.
She was walking by the White Rabbit, who was peeping
anxiously into her face.
"Very," said Alice. "Where's the Duchess?"
"Hush! Hush!" said the Rabbit in a low hurried tone.
. He looked anxiously over his shoulder as he spoke, and
then raised himself upon tiptoe, put his mouth close to
her ear, and whispered "She's under sentence of execu-
tion.
"What for?" said Alice.
"Did you say 'What a pity!'?" the Rabbit asked.
"No, I didn't," said Alice. "I don't think it's at all a pity.
I said What for?'"
"She boxed the Queen's ears — " the Rabbit began. Alice
gave a little scream of laughter. "Oh, hush!" the Rabbit
whispered in a frightened tone. "The Queen will hear
you! You see she came rather late, and the Queen said — "
"Get to your places!" shouted the Queen in a voice of
thunder, and people began running about in all directions,
tumbling up against each other : however, they got settled
down in a minute or two, and the game began.
Alice thought she had never seen such a curious cro-
quet-ground in her life: it was all ridges and furrows:
the croquet balls were live hedgehogs, and the mallets live
90 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
flamingoes, and the soldiers had to double themselves up
and stand on their hands and feet, to make the arches.
The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in manag-
ing her flamingo : she succeeded in getting its body tucked
away, comfortably enough, under her arm, with its legs
hanging down, but generally, just as she had got its neck
nicely straightened out, and was going to give the hedge-
hog a blow with its head, it would twist itself round and
look up in her face, with such a puzzled expression that
she could not help bursting out laughing; and, when she
had got its head down, and was going to begin again, it
was very provoking to find that the hedgehog had un-
rolled itself, and was in the act of crawling away : besides
all this, there was generally a ridge or a furrow in the
way wherever she wanted to send the hedgehog to, and, as
THE QUEEN S CROQUET-GROUND 9I
the doubled-up soldiers were always getting up and walk-
ing off to other parts of the ground, Alice soon came to
the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.
The players all played at once, without waiting for
turns, quarreling all the while, and fighting for the hedge-
hogs ; and in a very short time the Queen was in a furious
passion, and went stamping about, and shouting "Of?
with his head!" or "Off with her head!" about once in a
minute.
Alice began to feel very uneasy : to be sure, she had not
as yet had any dispute with the Queen, but she knew that
it might happen any minute, "and then," thought she,
"what would become of me? They're dreadfully fond of
beheading people here: the great wonder is, that there's
any one left alive!"
She was looking about for some way of escape, and
wondering whether she could get away without being
seen, when she noticed a curious appearance in the air : it
puzzled her very much at first, but after watching it a
minute or two she made it out to be a grin, and she said
to herself "It's the Cheshire-Cat: now I shall have some-
body to talk to."
"How are you getting on?" said the Cat, as soon as
there was mouth enough for it to speak with.
Alice waited till the eyes appeared, and then nodded.
"It's no use speaking to it," she thought, "till its ears have
come, or at least one of them." In another minute the
whole head appeared, and then Alice put down her flam-
ingo, and began an account of the game, feeling very glad
she had some one to listen to her. The Cat seemed to
think that there was enough of it now in sight, and no
more of it appeared.
"I don't think they play at all fairly," Alice began, in
rather a complaining tone, "and they all quarrel so dread-
92 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
fully one ca'n't hear oneself speak — and they don't seem
to have any rules in particular: at least, if there are, no
body attends to them — and you've no idea how confusing
it is all the things being alive: for instance, there's the
arch I've got to go through next w^alking about at the
other end of the ground — and I should have croqueted
the Queen's hedgehog just now, only it ran away when
it saw mine coming!"
"How do you like the Queen?" said the Cat in a low
voice.
"Not at all," said Alice: "she's so extremely — " Just then
she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listen-
ing: so she went on " — likely to win, that it's hardly worth
while finishing the game."
The Queen smiled and passed on.
"Who are you talking to?" said the King, coming up to
Alice, and looking at the Cat's head with great curiosity.
"It's a friend of mine — a Cheshire-Cat," said Alice:
"allow me to introduce it."
"I don't like the look of it at all," said the King: "how-
ever, it may kiss my hand, if it likes."
"I'd rather not," the Cat remarked.
"Don't be impertinent," said the King, "and don't look
at me like that!" He got behind Alice as he spoke.
"A cat may look at a king," said Alice. "I've read that
in some book, but I don't remember where."
"Well, it must be removed," said the King very de-
cidedly; and he called to the Quen, who was passing at
the moment, "My dear! I wish you would have this cat
removed!"
The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties,
great or small. "Off with his head!" she said without even
looking around.
THE QUEEN S CROQUET-GROUND 93
"I'll fetch the executioner myself," said the King eager-
ly, and he hurried off.
Alice thought she might as well go back and see how
the game was going on, as she heard the Queen's voice
in the distance, screaming with passion. She had already
heard her sentence three of the players to be executed for
having missed their turns, and she did not like the look
of things at all, as the game was in such confusion that
she never knew whether it was her turn or not. So she
went off in search of her hedgehog.
The hedgehog was engaged in a fight with another
hedgehog, which seemed to Alice an excellent opportunity
for croqueting one of them with the other: the only dif-
ficulty was, that her flamingo was gone across the other
side of the garden, where Alice could see it trying in a
helpless sort of way to fly up into a tree.
By the time she had caught the flamingo and brought it
back, the fight was over, and both the hedgehogs were out
of sight: "but it doesn't matter much," thought Alice, "as
all the arches are gone from this side of the ground." So
she tucked it away under her arm, that it might not
escape again, and went back to have a little more conver-
sation with her friend.
When she got back to the Cheshire-Cat, she was sur-
prised to find quite a large crowd collected round it : there
was a dispute going on between the executioner, the King,
and the Queen, who were all talking at once, while all the
rest were quite silent, and looked very uncomfortable.
The moment Alice appeared, she was appealed to by all
three to settle the question, and they repeated their argu-
ments to her, though, as they all spoke at once, she found
it very hard to make out exactly what they said.
The executioner's argument was, that you couldn't cut
off a head unless there was a body to cut it off from : that
94 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
he had never had to do such a thing before, and he wasn't
going to begin at his time of Ufe.
The King's argument was that anything that had a
head could be beheaded, and that you weren't to talk
nonsense.
The Queen's argument was that, if something wasn't
done about it in less than no time, she'd have everybody
executed, all round. (It was this last remark that had
made the whole party look so grave and anxious.)
Alice could think of nothing else to say but "It be-
longs to the Duchess: you'd better ask her about it."
THE MOCK TURTLE S STORY 95
"She's in prison/' the Queen said to the executioner:
*'£etch her here." And the executioner went off hke an
arrow.
The Cat's head began fading away the moment he was
gone, and, by the time he had come back with the Duch-
ess, it had entirely disappeared : so the King and the exe-
cutioner ran wildly up and down, looking for it, while
the rest of the party went back to the game.
Chapter IX
The Mock Turtle's Story
^'You ca'n't think how glad I am to see you again,
you dear old thing!" said the Duchess, as she tucked her
arm affectionately into Alice's, and they walked off to-
gether.
Alice was very glad to find her in such a pleasant tem-
per, and thought to herself that perhaps it was only the
pepper that had made her so savage when they met in
the kitchen.
"When rm a Duchess," she said to herself (not in a
very hopeful tone, though), "I won't have any pepper in
my kitchen at all. Soup does very well without — Maybe
it's always pepper that makes people hot-tempered," she
went on, very much pleased at having found out a new
kind of rule, "and vinegar that makes them sour — and
camomile that makes them bitter — and — and barley-sugar
and such things that make children sweet-tempered. I
only wish people knew that: then they wouldn't be so
stingy about it, you know "
She had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time, and
96 Alice's adventures in wonderland
was a little startled when she heard her voice close to her
ear. "You're thinking about something, my dear, and
that makes you forget to talk. I ca'n't tell you just now
what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit."
^^^^<^i^^:^^^
"Perhaps it hasn't one," Alice ventured to remark.
"Tut, tut, child!" said the Duchess. "Everything's got
a moral, if only you can find it." And she squeezed her-
self up closer to Alice's side as she spoke.
Alice did not much like her keeping so close to her:
first because the Duchess was very ugly; and secondly, be-
cause she was exactly the right height to rest her chin on
Alice's shoulder, and it was an uncomfortably sharp chin.
THE MOCK TURTLE S STORY 97
However, she did not like to be rude: so she bore it as
well as she could.
"The game's going on rather better now," she said, by
way of keeping up the conversation a little.
" 'Tis so," said the Duchess: "and the moral of that is
—Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round!' "
■ "Somebody said," Alice whispered, "that it's done by
everybody minding their own business!"
"Ah well! It means much the same thing," said the
Duchess, digging her sharp little chin into Alice's shoul-
der as she added "and the moral of that is — 'Take care of
the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.' "
"How fond she is of finding morals in things!" Alice
thought to herself.
"I dare say you're wondering why I don't put my arm
round your waist," the Duchess said, after a pause: "the
reason is, that I'm doubtful about the temper of your
flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?"
"He might bite," Alice cautiously replied, not feeling at
all anxious to have the experiment tried.
"Very true," said the Duchess: "flamingoes and mus-
tard both bite. And the moral of that is — 'Birds of a
feather flock together.' "
"Only mustard isn't a bird," Alice remarked.
"Right, as usual," said the Duchess: "what a clear way
you have of putting things!"
"It's a mineral, I thin\^' said Alice.
"Of course it is," said the Duchess, who seemed ready
to agree to everything that Alice said: "there's a large
mustard-machine near here. And the moral of that is —
'The more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.' "
"Oh, I know!" exclaimed Alice, who had not attended
to this last remark. "It's a vegetable. It doesn't look like
one, but it is."
98 Alice's adventures in wonderland
"I quite agree with you/' said the Duchess; "and the
moral of that is — *Be what you would seem to be' — or, if
you'd like it put more simply — 'Never imagine yourself
not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others
that what you were or might have been was not otherwise
than what you had been would have appeared to them
to be otherwise.' "
"I think I should understand that better," Alice said
very politely, "if I had it written down : but I ca'n't quite
follow it as you say it."
"That's nothing to what I could say if I chose," the
Duchess replied, in a pleased tone.
"Pray don't trouble yourself to say it any longer than
that," said Alice.
"Oh, don't talk about trouble!" said the Duchess. "I
make you a present of everything I've said as yet."
"A cheap sort of present!" thought Alice. "I'm glad
people don't give birthday-presents like that!" But she
did not venture to say it out loud.
"Thinking again?" the Duchess asked, with another
dig of her sharp little chin.
"I've a right to think," said Alice sharply, for she was
beginning to feel a little worried.
"Just about as much right," said the Duchess, "as pigs
have to fly; and the m "
But here, to Alice's great surprise, the Duchess's voice
died away, even in the middle of her favourite word
'moral,' and the arm that was linked into hers began to
tremble. Alice looked up, and there stood the Queen in
front of them, with her arms folded, frowning like a
thunder-storm.
"A fine day, your Majesty!" the Duchess began in a
low, weak voice.
THE MOCK TURTLE S STORY 99
"Now, I give you fair warning," shouted the Queen,
stamping on the ground as she spoke; "either you or your
head must be off, and that in about half no time! Take
your choice!"
The Duchess took her choice, and was gone in a
moment.
"Let's go on with the game," the Queen said to AUce;
and AUce was too much frightened to say a word, but
slowly followed her back to the croquet-ground.
The other guests had taken advantage of the Queen's
absence, and were resting in the shade : however, the mo-
ment they saw her, they hurried back to the game, the
Queen merely remarking that a moment's delay would
cost them their lives.
All the time they were playing the Queen never left off
quarreling with the other players and shouting "Off with
his head!" or "Off with her head!" Those whom she sen-
tenced were taken into custody by the soldiers, who of
course had to leave off being arches to do this, so that, by
the end of half an hour or so, there were no arches left,
and all the players, except the King, the Queen, and Alice,
were in custody and under sentence of execution.
Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said
to Alice "Have you seen the Mock Turtle yet?"
"No," said Alice. "I don't even know what a Mock
Turtle is."
"It's the thing Mock Turtle Soup is made from," said
the Queen.
1 never saw one, or heard of one," said Alice.
'Come on, then," said the Queen, "and he shall tell you
his history."
As they walked off together, Alice heard the King say
in a low voice, to the company, generally, "You are all
a-
til
100 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
pardoned." "Come, that's a good thing!" she said to her-
self, for she had felt quite unhappy at the number of
executions the Queen had ordered.
They very soon came upon a Gryphon, lying fast
^^/^^uijJ- V .
asleep in the sun. (If you don't know what a Gryphon is,
look at the picture.) "Up, lazy thing!" said the Queen,
"and take this young lady to see the Mock Turtle, and to
hear his history. I must go back and see after some exe-
cutions I have ordered;" and she walked off, leaving Alice
alone with the Gryphon. Alice did not quite like the look
of the creature, but on the whole she thought it would be
quite as safe to stay with it as to go after that savage
Queen: so she waited.
The Gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it
watched the Queen till she was out of sight then it
chuckled. "What fun!" said the Gryphon, half to itself,
half to Alice.
"What is the fun?" said Alice.
THE MOCK TURTLE S STORY
lOI
"Why, she^' said the Gryphon. "It's all her fancy that:
they never executes nobody, you know. Come on!"
"Everybody says 'come on!' here," thought Alice, as she
went slowly after it: "I never was so ordered about before,
in all my life, never!"
They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Tur-
tle in the distance, sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge
of rock, and, as they came nearer, Alice could hear him
sighing as if his heart would break. She pitied him deeply.
102 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
"What is his sorrow?" she asked the Gryphon. And the
Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same words as be-
fore, "It's all his fancy, that: he hasn't got no sorrow, you
know. Come on!"
So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at
them with large eyes full of tears, but said nothing.
"This here young lady," said the Gryphon, "she wants
for to know your history, she do."
"I'll tell it her," said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow
tone. "Sit down, both of you, and don't speak a word till
I've finished."
So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes.
Alice thought to herself "I don't see how he can ever
finish, if he doesn't begin." But she waited patiently.
"Once," said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh,
"I was a real Turtle."
These words were followed by a very long silence,
broken only by an occasional exclamation of "Hjckrrh!"
from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the
Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly getting up and say-
ing, "Thank you. Sir, for your interesting story," but she
could not help thinging there must be more to come, so
she sat still and said nothing.
"When we were little," the Mock Turtle went on at
last, more calmly, though still sobbing a little now and
then, "we went to school in the sea. The master was an
old Turtle — we used to call him Tortoise "
"Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?"
Alice asked.
"We called him Tortoise because he taught us," said
the Mock Turtle angrily. "Really you are very dull!"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a
simple question," added the Gryphon; and then they both
sat silent and looked at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink
THE MOCK TURTLE S STORY IO3
into the earth. At last the Gryphon said to the Mock Tur-
tle "Drive on, old fellow! Don't be all day about it!" and
he went on in these words : —
"Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn't
believe it "
"I never said I didn't!" interrupted Alice.
"You did," said the Mock Turtle.
"Hold your tongue!" added the Gryphon, before Alice
could speak again. The Mock Turtle went on.
"We had the best of educations — in fact, we went to
school every day "
'Tve been to a day-school, too," said Alice. "You needn't
be so proud as all that."
"With extras?" asked the Mock Turtle, a little anx-
iously.
"Yes," said Alice: "we learned French and music."
"And washing?" said the Mock Turtle.
"Certainly not!" said Alice indignantly.
"Ah! Then yours wasn't a really good school," said the
Mock Turtle in a tone of great relief. "Now, at ours, they
had, at the end of the bill. Trench, music, and washing —
extra.
"You couldn't have wanted it much," said Alice; "liv-
ing at the bottom of the sea."
"I couldn't afford to learn it," said the Mock Turtle
with a sigh. "I only took the regular course."
"What was that?" inquired Alice.
"Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with," the
Mock Turtle replied; "and then the different branches of
Arithmetic — Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and De-
rision."
"I never heard of *Uglification,' " Alice ventured to say.
"What is it?"
The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise. "Nev-
104 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
er heard of uglifying!" it exclaimed. "You know what to
beautify is, I suppose?"
"Yes/' said Alice doubtfully: "it means — to — make —
anything — prettier."
"Well, then," the Gryphon went on, "if you don't know
what to uglify is, you are a simpleton."
Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more ques-
tions about it : so she turned to the Mock Turtle, and said
"What else had you to learn?"
"Well, there was Mystery," the Mock Turtle replied,
counting off the subjects on his flappers — "Mystery, an-
cient and modern, with Seaography : then Drawling — the
Drawling-master was an old conger-eel, that used to come
once a week: he taught us Drawling, Stretching, and
Fainting in Coils."
"What was that like?" said Alice.
"Well, I ca'n't show it you, myself," the Mock Turtle
said "Fm too stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it."
"Hadn't time," said the Gryphon: "I went to the Class-
ical master, though. He was an old crab, he was."
"I never went to him," the Mock Turtle said with a
sigh. "He taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say."
"So he did, so he did," said the Gryphon, sighing in hi?
turn; and both creatures hid their faces in their paws.
"And how^ many hours a day did you do lessons?" said
Alice, in a hurry to change the subject.
"Ten hours the first day," said the Mock Turtle: "nine
the next, and so on."
"What a curious plan!" exclaimed Alice.
"That's the reason they're called lessons," the Gryphon
remarked: "because they lessen from day to day."
This was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it
over a little before she made her next remark. "Then the
eleventh day must have been a holiday?"
THE LOBSTER-QUADRILLE IO5
"Of course it was," said the Mock Turtle.
"And how did you manage on the twelfth?" Alice went
on eagerly.
"That's enough about lessons," the Gryphon inter-
rupted in a very decided tone. "Tell her something about
the games now."
Chapter X
The Lobster-Quadrille
The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and drew the back of
one flapper across his eyes. He looked at Alice and tried to
speak, but, for a minute or two, sobs choked his voice.
"Same as if he had a bone in his throat," said the Gry-
phon; and it set to work shaking him and punching him
in the back. At last the Mock Turtle recovered his voice,
and, with tears running down his cheeks, he went on
again: —
"You may not have lived much under the sea — " ("I
haven't," said Alice) — "and perhaps you were never even
introduced to a lobster — " (Alice began to say "I once
tasted " but checked herself hastily, and said "No
never") " so you can have no idea what a delightful
thing a Lobster-Quadrille is!"
"No, indeed," said Alice. "What sort of a dance is it?"
"Why," said the Gryphon, "you first form into a line
along the sea-shore "
"Two lines!" cried the Mock Turtle. "Seals, turtles,
salmon, and so on: then, when you've cleared all the jelly-
fish out of the way "
io6 Alice's adventures in wonderland
''That generally takes some time/' interrupted the Gry-
phon.
" — you advance twice "
"Each with a lobster as a partner!" cried the Gryphon.
"Of course," the Mock Turtle said: "advance twice, set
to partners "
" — change lobsters, and retire in same order," continued
the Gryphon.
"Then, you know," the Mock Turtle went on, "you
throw the "
"The lobsters!" shouted the Gryphon, with a bound
into the air.
" — as far out to sea as you can "
"Swim after them!" screamed the Gryphon.
"Turn a somersault in the sea!" cried the Mock Turtle,
capering wildly about.
"Change lobsters again!" yelled the Gryphon at the top
of its voice.
"Back to land again, and — that's all the first figure,"
said the Mock Turtle, suddenly dropping his voice; and
the two creatures, who had been jumping about like mad
things all this time, sat down again very sadly and quietly,
and looked at Alice.
"It must be a very pretty dance," said Alice timidly.
"Would you like to see a little of it?" said the Mock
Turtle.
"Very much indeed," said Alice.
"Come, let's try the first figure!" said the Mock Turtle
to the Gryphon. "We can do it without lobsters, you
know. Which shall sing?"
"Oh, you sing," said the Gryphon. "I've forgotten the
words."
So they began solemnly dancing round and round
Alice, every now and then treading on her toes when they
I
STER-QUADRILLE
107
passed too close, and waving their fore-paws to mark the
time, when the Mock Turtle sang this, very slowly and
sadly : —
it
Will you wal\ a little faster?'' said a whiting to a snail,
There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my
tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advancel
They are waiting on the shingle — will you come and join
the dance?
Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, will you join
the dance?
Will you, wo'n't you, will you, wo'n't you, wo'n't you join
the dance?
io8 Alice's adventures in wonderland
'You can really have no notion how delightful it will be
When they ta\e us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out
to seal"
But the snail replied ''Too jar, too far!" and gave a look,
askance —
Said he than\ed the whiting \indly, but he would not join
the dance.
Would not, could not, would not. could not, could not
join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not
join the dance.
"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied.
The further off from England the nearer is to France.
There is another shore, you /{now, upon the other side.
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the
dance.
Will you, wont you, will you, wo'nt you, will you join
the dance?
Will you, wont you, will you, wo'nt you, will you join
the dance?"
"Thank you, it's a very interesting dance to watch,'
said AUce, feeUng very glad that it was over at last: "and
I do so like that curious song about the whiting!"
"Oh, as to the whiting," said the Mock Turtle, "they —
you've seen them, of course?"
"Yes," said Alice, "I've often seen them at dinn "
she checked herself hastily.
"I don't know where Dinn may be," said the Mock
Turtle; "but, if you've seen them so often, of course you
know what they're like?"
"I believe so," Alice replied thoughtfully. "They have
their tails in their mouths — and they're all over crumbs."
"You're wrong about the crumbs," said the Mock Tur-
tle: "crumbs would all wash off in the sea. But they have
THE LOBSTER-QUADRILLE IO9
their tails in their mouths; and the reason is — " here the
Mock Turtle yawned and shut his eyes. "Tell her about
the reason and all that," he said to the Gryphon.
"The reason is," said the Gryphon, "that they would go
with the lobsters to the dance. So they got thrown out to
sea. So they had to fall a long way. So they got their tails
fast in their mouths. So they couldn't get them out again.
That's all."
"Thank you," said Alice, "it's very interesting. I never
knew so much about a whiting before."
"I can tell you more than that, if you like," said the
Gryphon. "Do you know why it's called a whiting?"
"I never thought about it," said Alice. "Why?"
"// does the boots and shoes^' the Gryphon replied very
solemnly.
Alice was thoroughly puzzled. "Does the boots and
shoes!" she repeated in a wondering tone.
"Why, what are your shoes done with?" said the Gry-
phon. "I mean, what makes them so shiny?"
Alice looked down at them, and considered a little be-
fore she gave her answer. "They're done with blacking, I
believe."
"Boots and shoes under the sea," the Gryphon went on
in a deep voice, "are done with whiting. Now you know."
"And what are they made of?" Alice asked in a tone
of great curiosity.
"Soles and eels, of course," the Gryphon replied, rath-
er impatiently: "any shrimp could have told you that."
"If I'd been the whiting," said Alice, whose thoughts
were still running on the song, "I'd have said to the por-
poise *Keep back, please! We don't want you with us!' "
"They were obliged to have him with them," the Mock ■
Turtle said. "No wise fish would go anywhere without a
porpoise."
no ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
"Wouldn't it, really?" said Alice, in a tone of great
surprise.
"Of course not," said the Mock Turtle. "Why, if a fish
came to me^ and told me he was going a journey, I should
say 'With what porpoise?' "
"Don't you mean 'purpose'?" said Alice.
"I mean what I say," the Mock Turtle replied, in an
offended tone. And the Gryphon added "Come, let's hear
some of your adventures."
"I could tell you my adventures — beginning from this
morning," said Alice a little timidly; "but it's no use go-
ing back to yesterday, because I was a different person
then."
"Explain all that," said the Mock Turtle.
"No, no! The adventures first," said the Gryphon in an
impatient tone: "explanations take such a dreadful time."
So Alice began telling them her adventures from the
time when she first saw the White Rabbit. She was a little
nervous about it, just at first, the two creatures got so
close to her, one on each side, and opened their eyes and
mouths so very wide; but she gained courage as she went
on. Her listeners were perfectly quiet till she got to the
part about her repeating ''You are old, Father William,"
to the Caterpillar, and the words all coming different, and
then the Mock Turtle drew a long breath, and said
"That's very curious!"
"It's all about as curious as it can be," said the Gryphon.
"It all came different!" the Mock Turtle repeated
thoughtfully. "I should like to hear her try and repeat
something now. Tell her to begin." He looked at the Gry-
phon as if he thought it had some kind of authority over
Alice.
"Stand up and repeat ' 'Tis the voice of the sluggard^' "
said the Gryphon.
\*
THE LOBSTER-QUADRILLE
III
I
"How the creatures order one about, and make one re-
peat lessons!" thought Ahce. "I might just as well be at
school at once." However, she got up, and began to re-
peat it, but her head was so full of the Lobster-Quadrille,
that she hardly knew what she was saying; and the words
came very queer indeed: —
Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
'You have ba\ed me too brotvn, I must sugar my hair/
As a duc\ with his eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lar\.
And will tal\ in contemptuous tones of the Sharif:
But, whei7 the tide rises and shar\s are around,
His voice has a timid and tremulous sound,"
t( >>
112 Alice's adventures in wonderland
"That's diflferent from what / used to say when I was
a child," said the Gryphon.
"Well, / never heard it before," said the Mock Turtle;
"but it sounds uncommon nonsense."
Alice said nothing: she had sat down with her face in
her hands, wondering if anything would ever happen in a
natural way again.
"I should like to have it explained," said the Mock
Turtle.
"She can't explain it," said the Gryphon hastily. "Go
on with the next verse."
"But about his toes?" the Mock Turtle persisted. "How
could he turn them out with his nose, you know?"
"It's the first position in dancing," Alice said; but she
was dreadfully puzzled by the whole thing, and longed to j
change the subject. I
"Go on with the next verse," the Gryphon repeated: "it
begins 7 passed by his garden' "
Alice did not dare to disobey, though she felt sure it
w^euld all come wrong, and she went on in a trembling
voice : —
'7 passed by his garden, and mar\ed, with one eye,
How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie:
The Panther too\ pie-crust, and gravy, and meat.
While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.
When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon.
Was \indly permitted to poc\et the spoon: *^
While the Panther received \nije and jor\ with a growl.
And concluded the banquet by " ^
"What is the use of repeating all that stuff?" the Mock
Turtle interrupted, "if you don't explain it as you go on?
It's by far the most confusing thing that / ever heard!"
"Yes, I think you'd better leave off," said the Gryphon, i
and Alice was only too glad to do so. I
THE LOBSTER-QUADRILLE II3
"Shall we try another figure of the Lobster-Quadrille?"
the Gryphon went on. "Or would you like the Mock Tur-
tle to sing you another song?"
"Oh, a song, please, if the Mock Turde would be so
kind," Alice replied, so eagerly that the Gryphon said, in
a rather offended tone, "Hm! No accounting for tastes!
Sing her 'Turtle Soupy will you, old fellow?"
The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began in a voice
choked with sobs, to sing this: —
*' Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureenl
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Beau — ootiful Soo — oop!
Beau — ootiful Soo — oop!
Soo — oop of the e — e — evening,
Beautiful, beautiful Soup!
''Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish,
Game, or any other dish?
Who would not give all else for two p
enny worth only of beautiful Soup?
Pennyworth only of beautiful soup?
Beau — ootiful Soo — oop!
Beau — ootiful Soo — oop!
Soo — oop of the e — e — evening.
Beautiful, beauti—FUL SOUP!"
"Chorus again!" cried the Gryphon, and the Mock Tur-
tle had just begun to repeat it, when a cry of "The trial's
beginning!" was heard in the distance.
"Come on!" cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by
the hand, it hurried off, without waiting for the end o£
the song.
114 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
"What trial is it?" Alice panted as she ran: but the
Gryphon only answered "Come on!" and ran the faster,
while more and more faintly came, carried on the breeze
that followed them, the melancholy words : —
*'Soo — oop of the € — e — evening,
Beautiful, beautiful SoupV*
Chapter XI
Who Stole the Tarts ?
The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their
throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled
about them — all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as
the whole pack of cards: the Knave was standing before
them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard him;
and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet
in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the
very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of
tarts upon it : they looked so good, that it made Alice quite
hungry to look at them — "I wish they'd get the trial
done," she thought, "and hand round the refreshments!"
But there seemed to be no chance of this; so she began
looking at everything about her to pass away the time.
Alice had never been in a court of justice before, but
she had read about them in books, and she was quite
pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly every-
thing there. "That's the judge," she said to herself, "be-
cause of his great wig."
The judge, by the way, was the King; and, as he wore
his crown over the wig (look at the frontispiece if you
WHO STOLE THE TARTS? II5
want to see how he did it), he did not look at all comfort-
able, and it was certainly not becoming.
"And that's the jury-box," thought Alice; "and those
twelve creatures," (she was obliged to say "creatures,"
you see, because some of them were animals, and some
were birds,) "I suppose they are the jurors." She said this
last word two or three times over to herself, being rather
proud of it : for she thought, and rightly too, that very few
little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all. How-
ever, "jurymen" would have done just as well.
The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates.
"What are they doing?" Alice whispered to the Gryphon.
"They ca'n't have anything to put down yet, before the
trial's begun."
"They're putting down their names," the Gryphon
whispered in reply, "for fear they should forget them be-
fore the end of the trial."
"Stupid things!" Alice began in a loud indignant voice;
but she stopped herself hastily, for the White Rabbit cried
out "Silence in the court!" and the King put on his spec-
tacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was
talking.
Alice could see, as well as if she were looking over their
shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down "Stupid
things!" on their slates, and she could even make out that
one of them didn't know how to spell "stupid," and that
he had to ask his neighbour to tell him. "A nice muddle
their slates'U be in, before the trial's over!" thought Alice.
One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This, of
course, Alice could not stand, and she went round the
court and got behind him, and very soon found an oppor-
tunity of taking it away. She did it so quickly that the poor
little juror (it was Bill, the Lizard) could not make out at
all what had become of it; so, after hunting all about for
ii6 Alice's adventures in wonderland
it, he was obliged to write with one finger for the rest of
the day; and this was of very Httle use, as it left no mark
on the slate.
"Herald, read the accusation!" said the King.
^filiTiiinwiiiitpp
On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trum-
pet, and then unrolled the parchment-scroll, and read as
follows : —
''The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
All on a summer day:
The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts
And too\ them quite away!"
"Consider your verdict," the King said to the jury.
"Not yet, not yet!" the Rabbit hastily interrupted.
"There's a great deal to come before that!"
WHO STOLE THE TARTS? II7
"Call the first witness," said the King; and the White
Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out
"First witness!"
The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a
teacup in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the
other. "I beg pardon, your Majesty," he began, "for bring-
ing these in; but I hadn't quite finished my tea when I
was sent for."
"You ought to have finished," said the King. "When
did you begin?"
The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had fol-
lowed him into the court, arm-in-arm with the Dormouse.
"Fourteenth of March, I thin\ it was," he said.
"Fifteenth," said the March Hare.
"Sixteenth," said the Dormouse.
"Write that down," the king said to the jury; and the
jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates,
and then added them up, and reduced the answxr to
shillings and pence.
"Take of? your hat," the King said to the Hatter.
"It isn't mine," said the Hatter.
'' Stolen r the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who
instantly made a memorandum of the fact.
"I keep them to sell," the Hatter added as an explana-
tion. "I've none of my own. I'm a hatter."
Here the Queen put on her spectacles, and began star-
ing hard at the Hatter, who turned pale and fidgeted.
"Give your evidence," said the King; "and don't be
nervous, or I'll have you executed on the spot."
This did not seem to encourage the witness at all: he
kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily
at the Queen, and in his confusion he bit a large piece out
of his teacup instead of the bread-and-butter.
Just at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation.
ii8 Alice's adventures in wonderland
which puzzled her a good deal until she made out what
it was: she was beginning to grow larger again, and she
thought at first she would get up and leave the court; but
on second thoughts she decided to remain where she was
as long as there was room for her.
ey^i
^
"I wish you wouldn't squeeze so," said the Dormouse,
who was sitting next to her. "I can hardly breathe."
"I ca'n't help it," said Alice very meekly: "I'm grow-
mg.
"You've no right to grow here^' said the Dormouse.
"Don't talk nonsense," said Alice more boldly: "you
know you're growing too."
"Yes, but / grow at a reasonable pace," said the Dor-
mouse: "not in that ridiculous fashion." And he got up
very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court. '
All this time the Queen had never left of? staring at the
WHO STOLE THE TARTS? II9
Hatter, and, just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she
said, to one of the officers of the court, "Bring me the Hst
of the singers in the last concert!" on which the wretched
Hatter trembled so, that 'he shook off both his shoes.
"Give your evidence," the King repeated angrily, "or
ril have you executed, whether you are nervous or not."
"Fm a poor man, your Majesty," the Hatter began, in
a trembling voice, "and I hadn't begun my tea — not above
a week or so — and what with the bread-and-butter getting
so thin — and the twinkling of the tea "
"The twinkling of what}'' said the King.
"It began with the tea," the Hatter replied.
"Of course twinkling begins with a T!" said the King
sharply. "Do you take me for a dunce? Go on!"
"I'm a poor man," the Hatter went on, "and most
things twinkled after that — only the March Hare
said "
"I didn't!" the March Hare interrupted in a great
hurry.
"You did!" said the Hatter.
"I deny it!" said the March Hare.
"He denies it," said the King: "leave out that part."
"Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said " the Hatter
went on, looking anxiously round to see if he would deny
it too; but the Dormouse denied nothing, being fast
asleep.
"After that," continued the Hatter, "I cut some more
bread-and-butter "
"But what did the Dormouse say?" one of the jury
asked.
"That I ca'n't remember," said the Hatter.
"You must remember," remarked the King, "or I'll
have you executed."
120 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
The miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread-
and-butter, and went down on one knee. "I'm a poor man,
your Majesty," he began.
"You're a very poor speaker ^' said the King.
'^^'-'■'^^^/■^^'^
^
Here one of the guinea-pigs cheered, and was immedi-
ately suppressed by the officers of the court. (As that is
rather a hard word, I will just explain to you how it was
done. They had a large canvas bag, which tied up at the
mouth with strings : into this they slipped the guinea-pig,
head first, and then sat upon it.)
"I'm glad I've seen that done," thought Alice. "I've so
often read in the newspapers, at the end of trials, *There
was some attempt at applause, which was immediately
suppressed by the officers of the court,' and I never un-
derstood what it meant till now."
"If that's all you know about it, you may stand down,"
continued the King.
"I ca'n't go no lower," said the Hatter: "I'm on the
floor, as it is."
"Then you may sit down," the King replied.
I
WHO STOLE THE TARTS ? 121
Here the other guinea-pig cheered, and was suppressed.
"Come, that finishes the guinea-pigs!" thought AHce.
"Now we shall get on better."
"Fd rather finish my tea," said the Hatter, with an
anxious look at the Queen, who was reading the list o£
singers.
"You may go," said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly
left the court, without even waiting to put his shoes on*
" and just take his head off outside," the Queen
added to one of the officers; but the Hatter was out of
sight before the officer could get to the door.
"Call the next witness!" said the King.
The next witness was the Duchess's cook. She carried
the pepper-box in her hand, and Alice guessed who it was,
even before she got into the court, by the way the people
near the door began sneezing all at once.
"Give your evidence," said the King.
"Sha'n't," said the cook.
The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who
said, in a low voice, "Your Majesty must cross-examine
this witness."
"Well, if I must, I must," the King said with a melan-
choly air, and, after folding his arms and frowning at the
cook till his eyes were nearly out of sight, he said, in a
deep voice, "What are tarts made of?"
"Pepper, mostly," said the cook.
"Treacle," said a sleepy voice behind her.
"Collar that Dormouse!" the Queen shrieked out. "Be-
head that Dormouse! Turn that Dormouse out of court!
Suppress him! Pinch him! Of? with his whiskers!"
For some minutes the whole court was in confusion,
getting the Dormouse turned out, and, by the time they
had settled down again, the cook had disappeared.
"Never mind!" said the King, with an air of great re-
122 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
lief. "Call the next witness." And he added, in an under-
tone to the Queen, "Really, my dear, you must cross-
examine the next witness. It quite makes my forehead
ache!"
Alice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over
the list, feeling very curious to see what the next witness
would be like, " — for they haven't got much evidence
yd-/," she said to herself. Imagine her surprise, when the
White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill little voice,
the name "Alice!"
Chapter XII
Alice's Evidence
*'Here!" cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the
moment how large she had grown in the last few min-
utes, and she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped
over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, upsetting all
the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd below, and there
they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a
globe of gold-fish she had accidentally upset the week
before.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed in a tone of
great dismay, and began picking them up again as quick-
ly as she could, for the accident of the gold-fish kept run-
ning in her head, and she had a vague sort of idea that
they must be collected at once and put back into the
jury-box, or they would die.
"The trial cannot proceed," said the King, in a very
grave voice, "until all the jurymen are back in their pro-
ALICE S EVIDENCE
123
per places — ^///' he repeated with great emphasis, looking
hard at Alice as he said so.
Alice looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in her haste,
she had put the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor
little thing was waving its tail about in a melancholy
way, being quite unable to move. She soon got it out
again, and put it right; "not that it signifies much," she
said to herself; "I should think it would be quite as much
use in the trial one way up as the other."
124 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
As soon as the jury had a Httle recovered from the shock
of being upset, and their slates and pencils had been
found and handed back to them, they set to work very
diligently to write out a history of the accident, all except
the Lizard, who seemed too much overcome to^do any-
thing but sit with its mouth open, gazing up intxjTthe roof
of the court.
"What do you know about this business?" the King
said to Alice.
"Nothing," said Alice.
"Nothing whatever}'' persisted the King.
"Nothing whatever," said Alice. I
"That's very important," the King said, turning to the
jury. They were just beginning to write this down on
their slates, when the White Rabbit interrupted: "C//2im-
portant, your Majesty means, of course," he said, in a very
respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as
he spoke.
"f//2 important, of course, I meant," the King hastily
said, and went on to himself in an undertone, "important
— unimportant — unimportant — important " as if he
were trying which word sounded best.
Some of the jury wrote it down "important," and some
"unimportant." Alice could see this, as she was near
enough to look over their slates; "but it doesn't matter a
bit," she thought to herself.
At this moment the King, who had been for some time
busily writing in his note-book, called out "Silence!" and
read out from his book "Rule Forty-two. All persons
more than a mile high to leave the courts
Everybody looked at Alice.
'Tm not a mile high," said Alice.
"You are," said the King.
((
Nearly two miles high," added the Queen.
ALICE S EVIDENCE I25
"Well, I sha'n't go, at any rate," said Alice; "besides,
that's not a regular rule: you invented it just now."
"It's the oldest rule in the book," said the King.
"Then it ought to be Number One," said Alice.
The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily.
"Consider your verdict," he said to the jury, in a low
trembling voice.
"There's more evidence to come yet, please your Ma-
jesty," said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a great
hurry: "this paper has just been picked up."
"What's in it?" said the Queen.
"I haven't opened it yet," said the White Rabbit; "but
it seems to be a letter, written by the prisoner to — to
somebody."
"It must have been that," said the King, "unless it was
written to nobody, which isn't usual, you know."
"Who is it directed to?" said one of the jurymen.
"It isn't directed at all," said the White Rabbit: "in fact,
there's nothing written on the outsider He unfolded the
paper as he spoke, and added "It isn't a letter, after all:
it's a set of verses."
"Are they in the prisoner's handwriting?" asked an-
other of the jurymen.
"No, they're not," said the White Rabbit, "and that's
the queerest thing about it." (The jury all looked puz-
zled.)
"He must have imitated somebody else's hand," said
the King. (The jury all brightened up again.)
"Please, your Majesty," said the Knave, "I didn't write
it, and they ca'n't prove that I did : there's no name signed
at the end."
"If you didn't sign it," said the King, "that only makes
the matter worse. You must have meant some mischief,
or else you'd have signed your name like an honest man."
126 Alice's adventures in wonderland
There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was
the first really clever thing the King had said that day.
"That proves his guilt, o£ course," said the Queen : "so,
off with "
"It doesn't prove anything o£ the sort!" said Alice.
"Why, you don't even know what they're about!"
"Read them," said the King.
The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. "Where shall
I begin, please your Majesty?" he asked.
"Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely,
"and go on till you come to the end: then stop."
There was dead silence in the court, whilst the White
Rabbit read out these verses: —
''They told me you had been to her,
And mentioned me to him:
She gave me a good character,
But said I could not swim.
He sent them word I had not gone
{We \now it to be true):
If she should push the matter on,
What would become of you?
I gave her one, they gave him two.
You gave us three or more;
They all returned from him to you,
Though they were mine before.
If 1 or she should chance to be
Involved in this affair,
He trusts to you to set them free,
Exactly as we were.
My notion was that you had been
(Before she had this fit)
An obstacle that came between
Him, and ourselves, and it.
ALICE S EVIDENCE \X]
Dont let him \now she li\ed them best,
For this must ever be
A secret, \ept from all the rest.
Between yourself and me!'
"That's the most important piece of evidence we've
heard yet," said the King, rubbing his hands; "so now
let the jury "
"If any one of them can explain it," said AUce, (she
had grown so large in the last few minutes that she wasn't
a bit afraid of interrupting him,) "I'll give him sixpence.
/ don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it."
The jury all wrote down, on their slates, ''She doesn't
believe there's an atom of meaning in it," but none of
them attempted to explain the paper.
"If there's no meaning in it," said the King, "that
saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn't try to
find any. And yet I don't know," he went on, spreading
out the verses on his knee, and looking at them with one
eye; "I seem to see some meaning in them, after all.
* — said 1 could not stvim — ' you ca'n't swim, can you?" he
added, turning to the Knave.
The Knave shook his head sadly. "Do I look like it?"
he said. (Which he certainly did not, being made entirely
of cardboard.)
"All right, so far," said the King; and he went on mut-
tering over the verses to himself: '''We \notv it to be
true — that's the jury, of course — 'If she should push the
matter on — that must be the Queen — 'What tvould be-
come of youV — What, indeed! — 7 gave her one, they
gave him ttvd — why, that must be what he did with the
tarts, you know "
"But it goes on 'they all returned from, him to you^ "
said Alice.
"Why, there they are!" said the King triumphantly,
28
ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
pointing to the tarts on the table. "Nothing can be clearer
than that. Then again — 'before she had this fif — you
never had fits^ my dear, I think?" he said to the Queen.
"Never!" said the Queen,
furiously, throwing an
inkstand at the Lizard as
she spoke. (The unfortu-
nate little Bill had left off
w^riting on his slate with
one finger, as he found it
made no mark; but he
now hastily began again,
using the ink, that was
trickling down his face, as
long as it lasted.)
"Then the words don't
fit you," said the King
looking round the court
with a smile. There was a
dead silence.
"It's a pun!" the King
added in an angry tone, and everybody laughed. "Let the
jury consider their verdict," the King said, for about the
twentieth time that day.
ALICE S EVIDENCE I29
"No, no!" said the Queen. "Sentence first — verdict af-
terwards."
"Stufif and nonsense!" said Alice loudly. "The idea of
having the sentence first!"
"Hold your tongue!" said the Queen, turning purple.
"I won't!" said Alice.
"Of? with her head!" the Queen shouted at the top of
her voice. Nobody moved.
"Who cares for you?'' said Alice (she had grown to her
her full size by this time). "You're nothing but a pack
of cards!"
At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came
flying down upon her; she gave a little scream, half of
fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and
found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap
of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead
leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her
face.
"Wake up, Alice dear!" said her sister. "Why, what a
long sleep you've had!"
"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!" said Alice. And
she told her sister, as well as she could remember them,
all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just
been reading about; and, when she had finished, her sis-
ter kissed her, and said "It was a curious dream, dear, cer-
tainly; but now run in to your tea: it's getting late." So
Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well
she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.
But her sister sat still just as she left her, leaning her
head on her hand, watching the setting sun, and thinking
of little Alice and all her wonderful Adventures, till she
too began dreaming after a fashion, and this was her
dream : —
First, she dreamed about little Alice herself : once again
130 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
the tiny hands were clasped upon her knee, and the bright
eager eyes were looking up into hers — she could hear the
very tones of her voice, and see that queer little toss of her
head to keep back the wandering hair that would always
get into her eyes — and still as she listened, or seemed to
ALICE S EVIDENCE I3I
listen, the whole place around her became alive with the
strange creatures of her little sister's dream.
The long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit
hurried by — the frightened Mouse splashed his way
through the neighbouring pool — she could hear the rattle
of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends shared
their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen
ordering of? her unfortunate guests to execution — once
more the pig-baby was sneezing on the Duchess's knee,
while plates and dishes crashed around it — once more the
shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard's
slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-
pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the distant sob of the
miserable Mock Turtle.
So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed her-
self in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open
them again, and all would change to dull reality — the
grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool
rippling to the waving of the reeds — the rattling teacups
would change to tinkling sheep-bells, and the Queen's
shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd-boy — and the
sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the
other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the con-
fused clamour of the busy farm-yard — while the lowing
of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the
Mock Turtle's heavy- sobs.
Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister
of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown wom-
an; and how she would keep, through all her riper years,
the simple and loving heart of her childhood; and how
she would gather about her other little children, and make
their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale,
perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long
132 ALICE S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND
ago; and how she would feel with all their simple sor
rows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, re-
membering her own child-life, and the happy summer
days.
i
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II
Through the
Looking-Glass
and what Alice found there
A
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Y
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Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
And half a life asunder,
Thy lotting smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy-tale.
I have not seen thy sunny face,
Nor heard thy silver laughter:
No thought of me shall find a place
In thy young life's hereafter —
Enough that now thou wilt not fail
To listen to my fairy-tale,
A tale begun in other days,
When summer suns were glowing —
A simple chime, that served to time
The rhythm of our rowing —
Whose eohoes live in memory yet.
Through envious years would say ''forget.
Come, hear\en then, ere voice of dread,
With bitter tidings laden.
Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maid en I
We are but older children, dear,
Who fret to find our bedtime near,
135
Without, the frost, the blinding snow,
The storm-wind's moody madness —
Within, the firelight's ruddy glow,
And childhood's nest of gladness.
The magic words shall hold thee fast:
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.
And, though the shadow of a sigh
May tremble through the story.
For ''happy summer days" gone by.
And vanish' d summer glory —
It shall not touch, with breath of bale.
The pleasance of our fairy-tale.
136
RED
^
m.
^.
mm.
'V//7////// %^/^/^ '6'^^0{^^
^^^ ^Ww ^^^ #& W^%^
^. « « ^ «
^B ^^. ^^,
•^^ ^^ ^p ><s. ^p
?^5®^ ... *^^
M
mm.
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W
WHITE
White Pawn {Alice) to play, and win in eleven
moves,
PAGE
PAGE
1. Alice meets R. Q. i6o
2. Alice through Q's
3d (by railway) 167
to Q's 4th {Twee-
dledum and
Tweedledee) . 169
3. Alice meets W. Q.
{with shawl) . 194
4. Alice to Q's 5th
(shop, river,
shop) . . . 201
5. Alice to Q's 6th
{Humpty Dump-
ty) .... 208
6. AHce to Q's 7th
{forest) . . . 224
7. W. Kt. takes R. Kt. 234
8. Alice to Q's 8th
{coronation ) . 249
9. Alice becomes
Queen . . . 250
10. Alice castles {feast) 252
11. Alice takes R. Q.
& wins . . . 266
201
1. R. Q. to K. R's 4th 167
2. W. Q. to Q. B's 4th
{after shawl) . 195
3. W. Q. to Q. B's
5th {becomes
sheep)
4. W. Q. to K. B's 8th
{leaves egg on
shelf)
5. W. Q. to Q. B's 8th
{flying from R.
Kt,) ....
6. R. Kt. to K's 2nd
(ch.) . . .
7. W. Kt. to K. B's
5th ....
8. R. Q. to K's sq.
{examination) . 252
9. Queens castle .
10. W. Q. to Q. R's 6th
{soup) . . .
207
228
234
248
258
261
137
»»»»»»»»»»»»>»««««««««««<«««
PREFACE TO 1896 EDITION
As the chess-problem, given on the previous page, has
puzzled some of my readers, it may be w^ell to explain that
it is correctly v^orked out, so far as the moves are con-
cerned. The alternation of Red and White is perhaps not
so strictly observed as it might be, and the "castling" of
the three Queens is merely a way of saying that they en-
tered the palace; but the "check" of the White King at
move 6, the capture of the Red Knight at move 7, and the
final "checkmate" of the Red King, will be found, by any
one who will take the trouble to set the pieces and play
the moves as directed, to be strictly in accordance with the
laws of the game.
The new words, in the poem "Jabberwocky" (see p.
153), have given rise to some differences of opinion as to
their pronunciation : so it may be well to give instructions
on that point also. Pronounce "slithy" as if it were the two
words "sly, the": make the "g" hard in "gyre" and "gim-
ble" : and pronounce "rath" to rhyme with "bath."
For this sixty-first thousand, fresh electrotypes have
been taken from the wood-blocks (which, never having
been used for printing from, are in as good condition as
when first cut in 1871), and the whole book has been set
up afresh with new type. If the artistic qualities of this re-
issue fall short, in any particular, of those possessed by
the original issue, it will not be for want of painstaking on
the part of author, publisher, or printer.
I take this opportunity of announcing that the Nursery
"Alice," hitherto priced at four shillings, net, is now to be
138
had on the same terms as the ordinary shiUing picture-
books — although I feel sure that it is, in every quality (ex-
cept the text itself, in which I am not qualified to pro-
nounce), greatly superior to them. Four shillings was a
perfectly reasonable price to charge, considering the very
heavy initial outlay I had incurred: still, as the Public
have practically said "We will not give more than a shill-
ing for a picture-book, however artistically got-up," I am
content to reckon my outlay on the book as so much dead
loss, and, rather than let the little ones, for whom it was
written, go without it, I am selling it at a price which is,
to me, much the same thing as giving it away.
Christmas, 1896
Chapter I
Looking-Glass House
One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had
nothing to do with it — it was the black kitten's fault en-
tirely. For the white kitten had been having its face
washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour
(and bearing it pretty well, considering) : so you see that
it couldnt have had any hand in the mischief.
The way Dinah washed her children's faces was this:
first she held the poor thing down by its ear with one
paw, and then with the other paw she rubbed its face all
over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and just now,
as I said, she was hard at work on the white kitten, which
was lying quite still and trying to purr — no doubt feeling
that it was all meant for its good.
But the black kitten had been finished with earlier in
the afternoon, and so, while Alice was sitting curled up in
a corner of the great armchair, half talking to herself and
half asleep, the kitten had been having a grand game of
romps with the ball of worsted Alice had been trying to
141
142 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
wind up, and had been rolling it up and down till it had
all come undone again; and there it was, spread over the
hearth-rug, all knots and tangles, with the kitten running
after its own tail in the middle.
"Oh, you wicked, wicked little thing!" cried Alice,
catching up the kitten, and giving it a little kiss to make
it understand that it was in disgrace. "Really, Dinah
ought to have taught you better manners! You ought,
Dinah, you know you ought!" she added, looking re-
I
LOOKING-GLASS HOUSE I43
proachfuUy at the old cat, and speaking in as cross a voice
as she could manage — and then she scrambled back into
the arm-chair, taking the kitten and the worsted with
her, and began winding up the ball again. But she didn't
get on very fast, as she was talking all the time, some-
times to the kitten, and sometimes to herself. Kitty sat
very demurely on her knee, pretending to watch the
progress of the winding, and now and then putting out
one paw and gently touching the ball, as if it would be
glad to help if it might.
"Do you know what to-morrow is, Kitty?" Alice began.
"You'd have guessed if you'd been up in the window with
me — only Dinah was making you tidy, so you couldn't. I
was watching the boys getting in sticks for the bonfire —
and it wants plenty of sticks, Kitty! Only it got so cold,
and it snowed so, they had to leave off. Never mind, we'll
go and see the bonfire to-morrow." Here Alice wound
two or three turns of the worsted round the kitten's neck,
just to see how it would look: this led to a scramble, in
which the ball rolled down upon the floor, and yards and
yards of it got unwound again.
"Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty," Alice went on,
as soon as they were comfortably settled again, "when I
saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very
nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the
snow! And you'd have deserved it, you little mischievous
darling! What have you got to say for yourself? Now
don't interrupt me!" she went on, holding up one finger.
"I'm going to tell you all your faults. Number one: you
squeaked twice while Dinah was washing your face this
morning. Now you ca'n't deny it, Kitty: I heard you!
What's that you say?" (pretending that the kitten was
^speaking). "Her paw went into your eye? Well, that's
your fault, for keeping your eyes open — if you'd shut
144 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
them tight up, it wouldn't have happened. Now don't
make any more excuses, but hsten! Number two: you
pulled Snowdrop away by the tail just as I had put down
the saucer of milk before her! What, you were thirsty,
were you? How do you know she wasn't thirsty too?
Now for number three: you unwound every bit of the
worsted while I wasn't looking!
"That's three faults, Kitty, and you've not been pun-
ished for any of them yet. You know I'm saving up all
your punishments for Wednesday week — Suppose they
had saved up all my punishments?" she went on, talking
more to herself than the kitten. "What would they do at
the end of a year? I should be sent to prison, I suppose,
when the day came. Or — let me see — suppose each pun-
ishment was to be going without a dinner: then, when
the miserable day came, I should have to go without fifty
dinners at once! Well, I shouldn't mind that much! I'd
far rather go without them than eat them!
"Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kit-
ty? How nice and soft it sounds! Just as if some one was
kissing the window all over outside. I wonder if the snow
loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently?
And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white
quilt; and perhaps it says 'Go to sleep, darlings, till the
summer comes again.' And when they wake up in the
summer, Kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and
dance about — whenever the wind blows — oh, that's very
pretty!" cried Alice, dropping the ball of worsted to clap
her hands. "And I do so wish it was true! I'm sure the
woods look sleepy in the autumn, when the leaves are
getting brown.
"Kitty, can you play chess? Now, don't smile, my dear,
I'm asking it seriously. Because, when we were playing
just now, you watched just as if you understood it: and
LOOKING-GLASS HOUSE I45
when I said 'Check!' you purred! Well, it was a nice
check, Kitty, and really I might have won, i£ it hadn't
been for that nasty Knight, that came wriggling down
among my pieces. Kitty, dear, let's pretend " And here
I wish I could tell you half the things Alice used to say,
beginning with her favourite phrase "Let's pretend." She
had had quite a long argument with her sister only the
day before — all because Alice had begun with "Let's pre-
tend we're kings and queens;" and her sister, who liked
being very exact, had argued that they couldn't, because
there were only two of them, and Alice had been reduced
at last to say "Well, you can be one of them, then, and I'll
be all the rest." And once she had really frightened her old
nurse by shouting suddenly in her ear, "Nurse! Do let's
pretend that I'm a hungry hyaena, and you're a bone!'^
But this is taking us away from Alice's speech to the
kitten. "Let's pretend that you're the Red Queen, Kitty!
Do you know, I think if you sat up and folded your
arms, you'd look exactly like her. Now do try, there's a
dear!" And Alice got the Red Queen off the table, and set
it up before the kitten as a model for it to imitate: how-
ever, the thing didn't succeed, principally, Alice said, be-
cause the kitten wouldn't fold its arms properly. So, to
punish it, she held it up to the Looking-glass, that it might
see how sulky it was, " — and if you're not good directly,"
she added, "I'll put you through into Looking-glass
House. How would you like that}
"Now, if you'll only attend, Kitty, and not talk so much,
I'll tell you all my ideas about Looking-glass House. First,
there's the room you can see through the glass — that's just
the same as our drawing-room, only the things go the
other way. I can see all of it when I get upon a chair —
all but the bit just behind the fireplace. Oh! I do so wish I
could see that bit! I want so much to know whether
146
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
,:!!:lli(jl:ilil
.='.;M!iti;ii;rj;'i:::r
l'*l':';':'i''lM,M,
they've a fire in the winter: you never can tell, you know,
unless our fire smokes, and then smoke comes up in that
room too — but that may be only pretence, just to make it
look as if they had a fire. Well then, the books are some-
thing like our books, only the words go the wrong way :
I know that^ because I've held up one of our books to the
glass, and then they hold up one in the other room.
"How would you like to live in Looking-glass House,
LOOKING-GLASS HOUSE
147
■•'''''■'' U'i||,l"'
't , lii '!>, \' ,
Kitty ? I wonder if they'd give you milk in there ? _Per-
jia£S_ Looking-glass milk isn't good to drink — but oh,
Kitty! now we come to the passage. You can just see a
little peep of the passage in Looking-glass House, if you
leave the door of our drawing-room wide open: and it's
very like our passage as far as you can see, only you know
it may be quite different on beyond. Oh, Kitty, how nice
it would be if we could only get through into Looking-
glass House! I'm sure it's got, oh! such beautiful things
148 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
in it! Let's pretend there's a way of getting through into
it, somehow, Kitty. Let's pretend the glass has got all soft
like gauze, so that we can get through. Why, it's turning
into a sort of mist now, I declare! It'll be easy enough to
get through " She was up on the chimney-piece while
she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got
there. And certainly the glass was beginning to melt away,
just like a bright silvery mist.
In another moment Alice was through the glass, and
had jumped lightly down into the Looking-glass room.
The very first thing she did was to look whether there was
a fire in the fireplace, and she was quite pleased to find that
there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as the one
she had left behind. "So I shall be as warm here as I was
in the old room," thought Alice: "warmer, in fact, be-
cause there'll be no one here to scold me away from the
fire. Oh, what fun it'll be, when they see me through the
glass in here, and ca'n't get at me!"
Then she began looking about, and noticed that what
could be seen from the old room was quite common and
uninteresting, but that all the rest was as different as pos-
sible. For instance, the pictures on the wall next the fire
seemed to be all alive, and the very clock on the chimney-
piece (you know you can only see the back of it in the
Looking-glass) had got the face of a little old man, and
grinned at her.
"They don't keep this room so tidy as the other," Alice
thought to herself, as she noticed several of the chessmen
down in the hearth among the cinders; but in another
moment, with a little "Oh!" of surprise, she was down on
her hands and knees watching them. The chessmen were
walking about, two and two!
"Here are the Red King and the Red Queen," Alice
said (in a whisper, for fear of frightening them), "and
LOOKING-GLASS HOUSE I49
there are the White King and the White Queen sitting
on the edge o£ the shovel — and here are two Castles walk-
ing arm in arm — I don't think they can hear me," she
went on, as she put her head closer down, *'and I'm
nearly sure they ca'n't see me. I feel somehow as if I was
getting invisible "
Here something began squeaking on the table behind
Alice, and made her turn her head just in time to see one
of the White Pawns roll over and begin kicking: she
watched it with great curiosity to see what would happen
next.
"It is the voice of my child!" the White Queen cried out,
as she rushed past the King, so violently that she knocked
him over among the cinders. "My precious Lily! My im-
perial kitten!" and she began scrambling wildly up the
side of the fender.
l|!,i.'!,i''M||iifi'i.,ii/f if.i'ii'' i.T
150 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"Imperial fiddlestick P' said the King, rubbing his nose,
which had been hurt by the fall. He had a right to be a
little annoyed with the Queen, for he was covered with
ashes from head to foot.
Alice was very anxious to be of use, and, as the poor
little Lily was nearly screaming herself into a fit, she
hastily picked up the Queen and set her on the table by
the side of her noisy little daughter.
The Queen gasped, and sat down: the rapid journey
through the air had quite taken away her breath, and for
a minute or two she could do nothing but hug the little
Lily in silence. As soon as she had recovered her breath
a little, she called out to the White King, who was sitting
sulkily among the ashes, "Mind the volcano!"
"What volcano?" said the King, looking up anxiously
into the fire, as if he thought that was the most likely place
to find one.
"Blew — me — up," panted the Queen, who was still a lit-
tle out of breath. "Mind you come up — the regular way —
don't get blown up!"
Alice watched the White King as he slowly struggled
up from bar to bar, till at last she said "Why, you'll be
hours and hours getting to the table, at that rate. I'd far
better help you, hadn't I?" But the King took no notice
of the question: it was quite clear that he could neither
hear her nor see her.
So Alice picked him up very gently, and lifted him
across more slowly than she had lifted the Queen, that
she mightn't take his breath away; but, before she put
him on the table, she thought she might as well dust him
a little, he was so covered with ashes.
She said afterwards that she had never seen in all her
life such a face as the King made, when he found him-
self held in the air by an invisible hand, and being dusted:
LOOKING-GLASS HOUSE
151
he was far too much astonished to cry out, but his eyes
and his mouth went on getting larger and larger, and
rounder and rounder, till her hand shook so with laugh-
ing that she nearly let him drop upon the floor.
"Oh! please don't make such faces, my dear!" she cried
out, quite forgetting that the King couldn't hear her. "You
make me laugh so that I can hardly hold you! And don't
keep your mouth so wide open! All the ashes will get into
it — there, now I think you're tidy enough!" she added, as
she smoothed his hair, and set him upon the table near the
Queen.
The King immediately fell flat on his back, and lay
perfectly still; and Alice was a little alarmed at what she
had done, and went round the room to see if she could
find any water to throw over him. However, she could
find nothing but a bottle of ink, and when she got back
152 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
y^.
{
with it she found he had recovered, and he and the Queen
were talking together in a frightened whisper — so low,
that Alice could hardly hear what they said.
The King was saying "I assure you, my dear, I turned
cold to the very ends of my whiskers!"
To which the Queen replied "You haven't got any
whiskers." "
"The horror of that moment," the King went on, "I
shall never, never forget!"
"You will, though," the Queen said, "if you don't make
a memorandum of it."
Alice looked on with great interest as the King took an
enormous memorandum-book out of his pocket, and be-
gan writing. A sudden thought struck her, and she took
hold of the end of the pencil, which came some way over
his shoulder, and began writing for him.
The poor King looked puzzled and unhappy, and
struggled with the pencil for some time without saying
anything; but Ahce was too strong for him, and at last he
panted out "My dear! I really must get a thinner pencil. I
LOOKING-GLASS HOUSE I53
ca'n't manage this one a bit : it writes all manner of things
that I don't intend "
"What manner of things?" said the Queen, looking
over the book (in which Alice had put ^The White
Knight is sliding down the po\er. He balances very bad-
ly'), "That's not a memorandum of your feelings!"
There was a book lying near Alice on the table, and
while she sat watching the White King (for she was still
a little anxious about him, and had the ink all ready to
throw over him, in case he fainted again), she turned over
the leaves, to find some part that she could read, " — for
it's all in some language I don't know," she said to herself.
It was like this.
•.^^Vivw ^^\ x\\ •b\<iw\^ Viwji ^•^v(^ ViQ
She puzzled over this for some time, but at last a bright
thought struck her. "Why, it's a Looking-glass book, of
course! And, if I hold it up to a glass, the words will all
go the right way again."
This was the poem that Alice read
JABBERWOCKY
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabt:
All mimsy were the b ore gave s,
And the mome raths outgrabe,
'* Beware the ]abberwoc\, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The jrumious Bandersnatch!"
154
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
'^^^n'jw^ ...-
<C> '"" -'"'—'•'
He too\ his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome joe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
i
LOOKING-GLASS HOUSE I55
And, as in uffish thought he stood, .
The ]abberwoc}{, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it camel
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicl{er-snac\!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing bac\,
'* And hast thou slain the ]abberwoc\?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! C allay!''
He chortled in his joy,
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves.
And the mcme raths outgrabe,
"It seems very pretty," she said when she had finished
it, "but it's rather hard to understand!" (You see she did-
n't hke to confess, even to herself, that she couldn't make
it out at all.) "Somehow it seems to fill my head with
ideas — only I don't exactly know what they are! How-
ever, somebody killed something: that's clear, at any rate
55
"But oh!" thought Alice, suddenly jumping up, "if I
don't make haste, I shall have to go back through the
Looking-glass, before I've seen what the rest of the house
is like! Let's have a look at the garden first!" She was out
of the room in a moment, and ran down stairs — or, at
least, it wasn't exactly running, but a new invention for
getting down stairs quickly and easily, as Alice said to
herself. She just kept the tips of her fingers on the hand-
rail, and floated gently down without even touching the
156 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
Stairs with her feet : then she floated on through the hall,
and would have gone straight out at the door in the same
way, i£ she hadn't caught hold o£ the door-post. She was
getting a little giddy with so much floating in the air, and
was rather glad to find herself walking again in the natu-
ral way.
Chapter II
The Garden of Live Flowers
"I SHOULD see the garden far better," said Alice to her-
self, "if I could get to the top of that hill: and here's a path
that leads straight to it — at least, no, it doesn't do that
" (after going a few yards along the path, and turn-
ing several sharp corners), "but I suppose it will at last.
But how curiously it twists! It's more like a cork-screw
than a path! Well this turn goes to the hill, I suppose —
no, it doesn't! This goes straight back to the house! Well
then, I'll try it the other way."
And so she did: wandering up and down, and trying
turn after turn, but always coming back to the house, do
what she would. Indeed, once, when she turned a corner
rather more quickly than usual, she ran against it before
she could stop herself.
"It's no use talking about it," Alice said, looking up at
the house and pretending it was arguing with her. "I'm
not going in again yet. I know I should have to get
through the Looking-glass again — back into the old room
— and there'd be an end of all my adventures!"
So, resolutely turning her back upon the house, she set
out once more down the path, determined to keep straight
THE GARDEN OF LIVE FLOWERS
157
on till she got to the hill. For a few minutes all went on
well, and she was just saying "I really shall do it this time
" when the path gave a sudden twist and shook it-
self (as she described it afterwards), and the next moment
she found herself actually walking in at the door.
"Oh, it's too bad!" she cried. "I never saw such a house
for getting in the way! Never!"
However, there was the hill full in sight, so there was
nothing to be done but start again. This time she came
158 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
upon a large flower-bed, with a border of daisies, and a
willow-tree growing in the middle.
"O Tiger-lily!" said Alice, addressing herself to one that
was waving gracefully about in the wind, "I wish you
could talk!"
"We can talk," said the Tiger-lily, "when there's any-
body worth talking to."
Alice was so astonished that she couldn't speak for a
minute: it quite seemed to take her breath away. At
length, as the Tiger-lily only went on waving about, she
spoke again, in a timid voice — almost in a whisper. "And
can all the flowers talk?"
"As well as you can," said the Tiger-lily. "And a great
deal louder."
"It isn't manners for us to begin, you know," said the
Rose, "and I really was wondering when you'd speak!
Said I to myself, 'Her face has got some sense in it, though
it's not a clever one!' Still, you're the right colour, and that
goes a long way."
"I don't care about the colour," the Tiger-lily remarked.
"If only her petals curled up a little more, she'd be all
right."
Alice didn't like being criticized, so she began asking
questions. "Aren't you sometimes frightened at being
planted out here, with nobody to take care of you?"
"There's the tree in the middle," said the Rose. "What
else is it good for?"
"But what could it do, if any danger came?" Alice
asked.
"It could bark," said the Rose.
"It says ^Boughwough!" cried a Daisy. "That's why its
branches are called boughs!"
"Didn't you know that}'' cried another Daisy. And
here they all began shouting together, till the air seemed
THE GARDEN OF LIVE FLOWERS I59
quite full of little shrill voices. "Silence, every one of you!"
cried the Tiger-lily, waving itself passionately from side
to side, and trembling with excitement. "They know I
ca'n't get at them!" it panted, bending its quivering head
towards Alice, "or they wouldn't dare to do it!"
"Never mind!" AHce said in a soothing tone, and,
stooping down to the daisies, who were just beginning
again, she whispered "If you don't hold your tongues, I'll
pick you!"
There was silence in a moment, and several of the pink
daisies turned white.
"That's right!" said the Tiger-lily. "The daisies are
worst of all. When one speaks, they all begin together,
and it's enough to make one wither to hear the way they
go on!
"How is it you can all talk so nicely?" Alice said, hop-
ing to get it into a better temper by a comphment. "I've
been in many gardens before, but none of the flowers
could talk."
"Put your hand down, and feel the ground," said the
Tiger-lily. "Then you'll know why."
Alice did so. "It's very hard," she said; "but I don't see
what that has to do with it."
"In most gardens," the Tiger-hly said, "they make the
beds too soft — so that the flowers are always asleep."
This sounded a very good reason, and Alice was quite
pleased to know it. "I never thought of that before!" she
said.
"It's my opinion that you never think at all^' the Rose
said, in a rather severe tone.
"I never saw anybody that looked stupider," a Violet
said, so suddenly, that Ahce quite jumped; for it hadn't
spoken before.
"Hold your tongue!" cried the Tiger-lily. "As if you
l6o THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
ever saw anybody! You keep your head under the leaves,
and snore away there, till you know no more what's go-
ing on in the world, than if you were a bud!"
"Are there any more people in the garden besides me?'*
Alice said, not choosing to notice the Rose's last remark.
"There's one other flower in the garden that can move
about like you," said the Rose. "I wonder how you do it
" ("You're always wondering," said the Tiger-lily),
"but she's more bushy than you are."
"Is she like me?'] Alice asked eagerly, for the thought
crossed her mind, "There's another little girl in the garden,
somewhere!"
"Well, she has the same awkward shape as you," the
Rose said: "but she's redder — and her petals are shorter,
I think."
"They're done up close, like a dahlia," said the Tiger-
lily: "not tumbled about, like yours."
"But that's not your fault," the Rose added kindly.
"You're beginning to fade, you know — and then one ca'n't
help one's petals getting a little untidy."
Alice didn't like this idea at all: so, to change the sub-
ject, she asked "Does she ever come out here?"
"I daresay you'll see her soon," said the Rose. "She's one
of the kind that has nine spikes, you know."
"Where does she wear them?" Alice asked with some
curiosity.
"Why, all round her head, of course," the Rose replied.
"I was wondering you hadn't got some too. I thought it
was the regular rule."
"She's coming!" cried the Larkspur. "I hear her foot-
step, thump, thump, along the gravel-walk!"
Alice looked round eagerly and found that it was the
Red Queen. "She's grown a good deal!" was her first re-
mark. She had indeed : when Alice first found her in the
THE GARDEN OF LIVE FLOWERS l6l
ashes, she had been only three inches high — and here she
was, half a head taller than Alice herself!
"It's the fresh air that does it," said the Rose: "wonder-
fully fine air it is, out here."
"I think ril go and meet her," said Alice, for, though
the flowers were interesting enough, she felt that it would
be far grander to have a talk with a real Queen.
"You ca'n't possibly do that," said the Rose: "/ should
advise you to walk the other way."
This sounded nonsense to Alice, so she said nothing,
but set off at once towards the Red Queen. To her sur-
prise she lost sight of her in a moment, and found herself
walking in at the front-door again.
l62 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
A little provoked, she drew back, and, after looking
everywhere for the Queen (whom she spied out at last, a
long way off), she thought she would try the plan, this
time, of walking in the opposite direction.
It succeeded beautifully. She had not been walking a
minute before she found herself face to face with the Red
Queen, and full in sight of the hill she had been so long
aiming at.
"Where do you come from?" said the Red Queen.
"And where are you going? Look up, speak nicely, and
don't twiddle your fingers all the time."
Alice attended to all these directions, and explained, as
well as she could, that she had lost her way.
"I don't know what you mean by your way," said the
Queen: "all the ways about here belong to me — but why
did you come out here at all?" she added in a kinder tone.
"Curtsey while you're thinking what to say. It saves time."
Alice wondered a little at this, but she was too much in
awe of the Queen to disbelieve it. "I'll try it when I go
home," she thought to herself, "the next time I'm a little
late for dinner."
"It's time for you to answer now," the Queen said look-
ing at her watch: "open your mouth a little wider when
you speak, and always say 'your Majesty.' "
"I only wanted to see what the garden was like, your
Majesty "
"That's right," said the Queen, patting her on the head,
which Alice didn't like at all: "though, when you say
'garden' — Vve seen gardens, compared with which this
would be a wilderness."
Alice didn't dare to argue the point, but went on: " —
and I thought I'd try and find my way to the top of that
hill "
"When you say 'hill,' " the Queen interrupted, "/ could
THE GARDEN OF LIVE FLOWERS 163
show you hills, in comparison with which you'd call that
a valley."
"No, I shouldn't," said Alice, surprised into contra-
dicting her at last: "a hill cant be a valley, you know.
That would be nonsense "
The Red Queen shook her head. "You may call it *non-
sense' if you like," she said, "but I've heard nonsense, com-
pared with which that would be as sensible as a diction-
ary
I"
i Alice curtseyed again, as she was afraid from the
Queen's tone that she was a little offended: and they
walked on in silence till they got to the top of the little hill.
For some minutes Alice stood without speaking, look-
ing out in all directions over the country — and a most
curious country it was. There were a number of tiny little
brooks running straight across it from side to side, and
the ground between was divided up into squares by a
number of little green hedges, that reached from brook to
brook.
"I declare it's marked out just like a large chess-board!"
I
164 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
Alice said at last. "There ought to be some men moving
about somewhere — and so there are!" she added in a tone
of delight, and her heart began to beat quick with ex-
citement as she went on. "It's a great huge game of chess
that's being played — all over the world — if this is the
world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I wish I
was one of them! I wouldn't mind being a Pawn, if only
I might join — though of course I should li\e to be a
Queen, best."
She glanced rather shyly at the real Queen as she said
this, but her companion only smiled pleasantly, and said
"That's easily managed. You can be the White Queen's
Pawn, if you like, as Lily's too young to play ; and you're
in the Second Square to begin with : when you get to the
Eighth Square you'll be a Queen " Just at this mo-
ment, somehow or other, they began to run.
Alice never could quite make out, in thinking it over
afterwards, how it was that they began : all she remembers
is, that they were running hand in hand, and the Queen
went so fast that it was all she could do to keep up with
her: and still the Queen kept crying "Faster! Faster!" but
Alice felt she could not go faster, though she had no
breath left to say so.
The most curious part of the thing was, that the trees
and the other things round them never changed their
places at all : however fast they wxnt, they never seemed to
pass anything. "I wonder if all the things move along
with us?" thought poor puzzled Alice. And the Queen
seemed to guess her thoughts, for she cried "Faster!
Don't try to talk!"
Not that Alice had any idea of doing that. She felt as
if she would never be able to talk again, she was getting so
much out of breath: and still the Queen cried "Faster!
THE GARDEN OF LIVE FLOWERS
J'' I
165
^mmi^^c^'^^^'^^^^:.
Faster!" and dragged her along. "Are we nearly there?"
Alice managed to pant out at last.
"Nearly there!" the Queen repeated. "Why, we passed
it ten minutes ago! Faster!" And they ran on for a time
in silence, with the wind whistling in Alice's ears, and
almost blowing her hair off her head, she fancied.
"Now! Now!" cried the Queen. "Faster! Faster!" And
they went so fast that at last they seemed to skim through
the air, hardly touching the ground with their feet, till
suddenly, just as Alice was getting quite exhausted, they
stopped, and she found herself sitting on the ground,
breathless and giddy.
The Queen propped her up against a tree, and said
kindly, "You may rest a little, now."
Alice looked round her in great surprise. "Why, I do
believe we've been under this tree the whole time! Every-
thing's just as it was!"
"Of course it is," said the Queen. "What would you
have it?"
l66 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"Well, in our country," said Alice, still panting a little,
"you'd generally get to somewhere else — if you ran very
fast for a long time as we've been doing."
"A slow sort of country!" said the Queen. "Now, here,
you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the
same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must
run at last twice as fast as that!"
"I'd rather not try, please!" said Alice. "I'm quite con-
tent to stay here — only I am so hot and thirsty!"
"I know what you'd like!" the Queen said good-natur-
edly, taking a little box out of her pocket. "Have a bis-
cuit?"
Alice thought it would not be civil to say "No," though
it wasn't at all what she wanted. She she took it, and ate
it as well as she could: and it was t^ery dry: and she
thought she had never been so nearly choked in all her
life.
"While you're refreshing yourself," said the Queen, "I'll j
just take the measurements." And she took a ribbon out
of her pocket, marked in inches, and began measuring
the ground, and sticking little pegs in here and there.
"At the end of two yards," she said, putting in a peg to
mark the distance, "I shall give you your directions —
have another biscuit?"
"No, thank you," said Alice: "one's quite enough!"
"Thirst quenched, I hope?" said the Queen.
Alice did not know what to say to this, but luckily the
Queen did not wait for an answer, but went on. "At the
end of three yards I shall repeat them — for fear of yout
forgetting them. At the end of four, I shall say good-bye.
And at the end of fit/e, I shall go!"
She had got all the pegs put in by this time, and Alice
looked on with great interest as she returned to the tree,
and then began slowly walking down the row.
THE GARDEN OF LIVE FLOWERS 167
At the two-yard peg she faced round, and said "A
pawn goes two squares in its first move, you know. So
you'll go very quickly through the Third Square — by
railway, I should think — and you'll find yourself in the
Fourth Square in no time. Well, that square belongs to
Tweedledum and Tweedledee — the Fifth is mostly water
— the Sixth belongs to Humpty Dumpty — But you make
no remark?"
"I — I didn't know I had to make one — just then," Alice
faltered out.
"You should have said," the Queen went on in a tone
of grave reproof, " *It's extremely kind of you to tell me
all this' — however, we'll suppose it said — the Seventh
Square is all forest — however, one of the Knights will
show you the way — and in the Eighth Square we shall be
Queens together, and it's all feasting and fun!" Alice got
up and curtseyed, and sat down again.
At the next peg the Queen turned again, and this time
she said "Speak in French when you ca'n't think of the
English for a thing — turn out your toes as you walk — and
remember who you are!" She did not wait for Alice to
curtsey, this time, but walked on quickly to the next peg,
where she turned for a moment to say "Good-bye," and
then hurried on to the last.
How it happened, Alice never knew, but exactly as she
came to the last peg, she was gone. Whether she vanished
into the air, or whether she ran quickly into the wood
("and she can run very fast!" thought Alice), there was
no way of guessing, but she was gone, and Alice began to
remember that she was a Pawn, and that it would soon be
time for her to move.
Chapter III
Looking-Glass Insects
Of course the first thing to do was to make a grand sur-
vey of the country she was going to travel through. "It's
something very Uke learning geography," thought Alice,
•as she stood on tiptoe in hopes of being able to see a little
further. "Principal rivers — there are none. Principal
mountains — I'm on the only one, but I don't think it's got
any name. Principal towns — why, what are those creat-
ures, making honey down there? They ca'n't be bees —
nobody ever saw bees a mile off, you know " and for
some time she stood silent, watching one of them that was
bustling about among the flowers, poking its proboscis
into them, "just as if it was a regular bee," thought Alice.
However, this was anything but a regular bee : in fact, it
was an elephant — as Alice soon found out, though the
idea quite took her breath away at first. "And what enor-
mous flowers they must be!" was her next idea. "Some-
thing like cottages with the roofs taken oflF, and stalks put
to them — and what quantities of honey they must make!
I think I'll go down and — no, I wo'n't go just yet," she
went on, checking herself just as she was beginning to run
down the hill, and trying to find some excuse for turning
shy so suddenly. "It'll never do to go down among them
without a good long branch to brush them away — and
what fun it'll be when they ask me how I liked my walk.
I shall say *Oh, I liked it well enough ' (here came the
favourite little toss of the head), 'only it was so dusty and
hot, and the elephants did tease so!' "
"I think I'll go down the other way," she saia after a
pause; "and perhaps I may visit the elephants later on.
Besides, I do so want to get into the Third Square!"
i68
LOOKING-GLASS INSECTS 169
So, with this excuse, she ran down the hill, and jumped
over the first of the six little brooks.
^ M, ^ 4^ ^
TP TT TV" TT TP
^P ^T w
TP TV" TT TP
"Tickets, please!" said the Guard, putting his head in at
the window. In a moment everybody was holding out a
ticket: they were about the same size as the people, and
quite seemed to fill the carriage.
"Now then! Show your ticket, child!" the Guard went
on, looking angrily at Alice. And a great many voices all
said together ("like the chorus of a song," thought Alice)
"Don't keep him waiting, child! Why, his time is worth a
thousand pounds a minute!"
"I'm afraid I haven't got one," Alice said in a frightened
tone: "there wasn't a ticket-office where I came from."
And again the chorus of voices went on. "There wasn't
room for one where she came from. The land there is
worth a thousand pounds an inch!"
"Don't make excuses," said the Guard: "you should
have bought one from the engine-driver." And once more
the chorus of voices went on with "The man that drives
the engine. Why, the smoke alone is worth a thousand
pounds a puflf!"
Alice thought to herself "Then there's no use in speak-
ing." The voices didn't join in, this time, as she hadn't
spoken, but, to her great surprise, they all thought in
chorus (I hope you understand what thinking in chorus
means — for I must confess that / don't), "Better say noth-
ing at all. Language is worth a thousand pounds a word!"
"I shall dream about a thousand pounds tonight, I
know I shall!" thought Alice.
All this time the Guard was looking at her, first
through a telescope, then through a microscope, and then
170 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
through an opera-glass. At last he said "You're traveling
the wrong way," and shut up the window, and went
away.
"So young a child," said the gentleman sitting opposite
to her, (he was dressed in white paper,) "ought to know
which way she's going, even if she doesn't know her own
name!"
A Goat, that was sitting next to the gentleman in white,
shut his eyes and said in a loud voice, "She ought to know
her way to the ticket-office, even if she doesn't know her
alphabet!" ^
There was a Beetle sitting next the Goat (it was a very j
queer carriage-full of passengers altogether), and, as the
rule seemed to be that they should all speak in turn, he
went on with "She'll have to go back from here as lug-
gage!"
LOOKING-GLASS INSECTS I7I
Alice couldn't see who was sitting beyond the Beetle,
but a hoarse voice spoke next. "Change engines " it
said, and there it choked and was obliged to leave oflF.
"It sounds like a horse," Alice thought to herself. And
an extremely small voice, close to her ear, said "You might
make a joke on that — something about 'horse' and 'hoarse,' you know."
Then a very gende voice in the distance said, "She must
be labeled *Lass, with care,' you know "
And after that other voices went on ("What a number
of people there are in the carriage!" thought Ahce), say-
ing "She must go by post, as she's got a head on her "
"She must be sent as a message by the telegraph " "She
must draw the train herself the rest of the way ," and
so on.
But the gentleman dressed in white paper leaned for-
wards and whispered in her ear, "Never mind what they
all say, my dear, but take a return-ticket every time the
train stops."
"Indeed I sha'n't!" Alice said rather impatiendy. "I
don't belong to this railway journey at all— I was in a
wood just now— and I wish I could get back there!"
"You might make a joke on that," said the little VoicC cloSC tO
her ear: "something about Vou would if you could/ you know."
"Don't tease so," said Alice, looking about in vain to see
where the voice came from. "If you're so anxious to have
a joke made, why don't you make one yourself?"
The litde voice sighed deeply. It was very unhappy, evi-
dendy, and Alice would have said something pitying to
comfort it, "if it would only sigh like other people!" she
thought. But this was such a wonderfully small sigh, that
she wouldn't have heard it at ill, if it hadn't come quite
close to her ear. The consequence of this was that it
tickled her ear very much, and quite took off her thoughts
from the unhappiness of the poor Httle creature.
172 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"I know you are a friend," the little Voice Went OH I '*a dear
friend, and an old friend. And you wo'n't hurt me, though I am an
insect."
"What kind of insect?" Alice inquired, a little anxious-
ly. What she really wanted to know was, whether it could
sting or not, but she thought this wouldn't be quite a civil
question to ask.
**What, then you don't—" the little voice began, when it was
drowned by a shrill scream from the engine, and every-
body jumped up in alarm, Alice among the rest.
The Horse, who had put his head out of the window,
quietly drew it in and said "It's only a brook we have to
jump over." Everybody seemed satisfied with this, though
Alice felt a litde nervous at the idea of trains jumping at
all. "However, it'll take us into the Fourth Square, that's
some comfort!" she said to herself. In another moment
she felt the carriage rise straight up into the air, and in her
fright she caught at the thing nearest to her hand, which
happened to be the Goat's beard.
# # # ^ *
:j|: # # # #
But the beard seemed to melt way as she touched it,
and she found herself sitting quietly under a tree— while
the Gnat (for that was the insect she had been talking to)
was balancing itself on a twig just over her head, and fan-
ning her with its wings.
It certainly was a very large Gnat: "about the size of a
chicken," Alice thought. Still, she couldn't feel nervous
with it, after they had been talking together so long.
"—then you don't like all insects ?" the Gnat went on, as
quiedy as if nothing had happened.
LOOKING-GLASS INSECTS I73
"I like them when they can talk," Alice said. "None o£
them ever talk, where / come from."
"What sort of insects do you rejoice in, where you come
from?" the Gnat inquired.
"I don't rejoice in insects at all," Alice explained, "be-
cause I'm rather afraid of them — at least the large kinds.
But I can tell you the names of some of them."
"Of course they answer to their names?" the Gnat re-
marked carelessly.
"I never knew them do it."
"What's the use of their having names," the Gnat said,
"if they wo'n't answer to them?"
"No use to them^' said Alice; "but it's useful to the
people that name them, I suppose. If not, why do things
have names at all?"
"I ca'n't say," the Gnat replied. "Further on, in the
wood down there, they've got no names — however, go on
with your list of insects: you're wasting time."
"Well, there's the Horse-fly," Alice began, counting off
the names on her fingers.
"All right," said the Gnat. "Half way up that bush,
you'll see a Rocking-horse-fly, if you look. It's made en-
tirely of wood, and gets about by swinging itself from
branch to branch."
"What does it live on?" Alice asked, with great curios-
ity.
"Sap and sawdust," said the Gnat. "Go on with the
list."
Alice looked at the Rocking-horse-fly with great inter-
est, and made up her mind that it must have been just re-
painted, it looked so bright and sticky ; and then she went
on.
"And there's the Dragon-fly."
"Look on the branch above your head," said the Gnat,
174 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"and there you'll find a Snap-dragon-fly. Its body is made
o£ plum-pudding, its wings of holly-leaves, and its head is
a raisin burning in brandy."
"And what does it live on?" Alice asked, as before.
"Frumenty and mince-pie," the Gnat replied; "and it
makes its nest in a Christmas-box."
"And then there's the Butterfly," Alice went on, after
she had taken a good look at the insect with its head on
fire, and had thought to herself, "I wonder if that's the
reason insects are so fond of flying into candles — because
they want to turn into Snap-dragon-flies!"
"Crawling at your feet," said the Gnat (Alice drew her
feet back in some alarm), "you may observe a Bread-and-
butter-fly. Its wings are thin slices of bread-and-butter, it's
body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar."
"And what does it live on?"
"Weak tea with cream in it."
A new difficulty came into Alice's head. "Supposing it
couldn't find any?" she suggested.
"Then it would die, of course."
LOOKING-GLASS INSECTS 175
"But that must happen very often," AUce remarked
thoughtfully.
"It always happens," said the Gnat.
After this, Alice was silent for a minute or two, ponder-
ing. The Gnat amused itself meanwhile by humming
round and round her head : at last it settled again and re-
marked "I suppose you don't want to lose your name.f^"
"No, indeed," Alice said, a little anxiously.
"And yet I don't know," the Gnat went on in a careless
tone: "only think how convenient it would be if you could
manage to go home without it! For instance, if the gov-
erness wanted to call you to your lessons, she would call
out 'Come here ,' and there she would have to leave
off, because there wouldn't be any name for her to call,
and of course you wouldn't have to go, you know."
"That would never do, I'm sure," said Alice: "the gov-
erness would never think of excusing me lessons for that.
If she couldn't remember my name, she'd call me 'Miss,'
as the servants do."
"Well, if she said 'Miss,' and didn't say anything more,"
176 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
the Gnat remarked, "of course you'd miss your lessons.
That's a joke. I wish you had made it."
"Why do you wish / had made it?" AHce asked. "It's a
very bad one."
But the Gnat only sighed deeply while two large tears
came rolling down its cheeks.
""You shouldn't make jokes," Alice said, "if it makes
you so unhappy." ^
Then came another of those melancholy little sighs, and
this time the poor Gnat really seemed to have sighed itself
away, for, when Alice looked up, there was nothing what-
ever to be seen on the twig, and, as she was getting quite
chilly with sitting still so long, she got up and walked on.
She very soon came to an open field, with a wood on the
other side of it : it looked much darker than the last wood,
and Alice felt a little timid about going into it. However,
on second thoughts, she made up her mind to go on : "for
J certainly won't go bac\^'' she thought to herself, and this
was the only way to the Eighth Square.
LOOKING-GLASS INSECTS I77
"This must be the wood," she said thoughtfully to her-
self, "where things have no names. I wonder what'U be-
come of my name when I go in? I shouldn't like to lose
it at all because they'd have to give me another, and it
would be almost certain to be an ugly one. But then the
fun would be, trying to find the creature that had got my
old name! That's just like the advertisements, you know,
when people lose dogs 'answers to the name of
''Dash": had on a brass collar just fancy calling every-
thing you met 'Alice,' till one of them answered! Only
they wouldn't answer at all, if they were wise."
She was rambling on in this way when she reached the
wood: it looked very cool and shady. "Well, at any rate
it's a great comfort," she said as she stepped under the
trees, "after being so hot, to get into the — into the — into
what}'' she went on, rather surprised at not being able to
think of the word. "I mean to get under the— under the —
under this, you know!" putting her hand on the trunk of
the tree. "What does it call itself, I wonder? I do believe
it's got no name — why, to be sure it hasn't!"
She stood silent for a minute, thinking: then she sud-
denly began again. "Then it really has happened, after all!
And now, who am I? I tvill remember, if I can! I'm de-
termined to do it!" But being determined didn't help her
much, and all she could say, after a great deal of puzzling,
was "L, I \now it begins with L!"
Just then a Fawn came wandering by : it looked at Alice
with its large gentle eyes, but didn't seem at all frightened.
"Here then! Here then!" Alice said, as she held out her
hand and tried to stroke it; but it only started back a little,
and then stood looking at her again.
"What do you call yourself?" the Fawn said at last.
Such a soft sweet voice it had!
178 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"I wish I knew!" thoughv poor Alice. She answered,
rather sadly, "Nothing, just now."
"Think again," it said: "that wo'n't do."
Alice thought, but nothing came of it. "Please, would
you tell me what you call yourself?" she said timidly. "I
think that might help a little."
'>'^'^J^^^i,Z/
"I'll tell you, if you'll come a little further on," the
Fawn said. "I ca'n't remember hereT
So they walked on together through the wood, Alice
with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the
Fawn, till they came out into another open field, and here
the Fawn gave a sudden bound into the air, and shook it-
self free from Alice's arm. "I'm a Fawn!" it cried out in a
voice of delight. "And, dear me! you're a human child!"
I
LOOKING-GLASS INSECTS I79
A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown
eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at full
speed.
Alice Stood looking after it, almost ready to cry with
vexation at having lost her dear little fellow-traveler so
suddenly. "However, I know my name now," she said:
"that's some comfort. Alice — Alice — I won't forget it
again. And now, which of these finger-posts ought I to
follow, I wonder?"
It was not a very difficult question to answer, as there
was only one road through the wood, and the two finger-
posts both pointed along it. "I'll settle it," Alice said to
herself, "when the road divides and they point difJerent
ways."
But this did not seem likely to happen. She went on and
on, a long way, but wherever the road divided, there were
sure to be two finger-posts pointing the same way, one
marked "TO TWEEDLEDUM'S HOUSE," and the
other "TO THE HOUSE OF TWEEDLEDEE."
"I do believe," said Alice at last, "that they live in the
same house! I wonder I never thought of that before —
But I ca'n't stay there long. I'll just call and say 'How d'ye
do?' and ask them the way out of the wood. If I could
only get to the Eighth Square before it gets dark!" So she
wandered on, talking to herself as she went, till, on turn-
ing a sharp corner, she came upon two fat little men, so
suddenly that she could not help starting back, but in an-
other moment she recovered herself, feeling sure that they
must be.
Chapter IV
Tweedledum and Tweedledee
They were standing under a tree, each with an arm
round the other's neck, and AUce knew which was which
in a moment, because one of them had 'DUM' em-
broidered on his collar, and the other 'DEE.' "I suppose
-'''•-'
they've each got 'TWEEDLE' round at the back of the
collar," she said to herself.
They stood so still that she quite forgot they were alive,
and she was just going round to see if the word 'TWEE-
DLE' was written at the back of each collar, when she
was startled by a voice coming from the one marked
^dum;
"If you think we're wax-works," he said, "you ought to
i8o
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE l8l
pay, you know. Wax-works weren't made to be looked at
for nothing. Nohow!"
"Contrariwise," added the one marked 'DEE,' "i£ you
think we're aUve, you ought to speak."
I "I'm sure I'm very sorry," was all Alice could say; for
the words of the old song kept ringing through her head
like the ticking of a clock, and she could hardly help say-
ing them out loud : —
''Tweedledum and Tweedledee
Agreed to have a battle;
For Tweedledum said Tweedledee
Had spoiled his nice new rattle.
Just then flew down a monstrous crow,
^ As blac\ as a tar-barrel;
Which frightened both the heroes so,
They quite forgot their quarrel."
"I know what you're thinking about," said Tweedle-
dum; "but it isn't so, nohow."
"Contrariwise," continued Tweedledee, "if it was so, it
might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it
ain't. That's logic."
"I was thinking," Alice said politely, "which is the best
way out of this wood: it's getting so dark. Would you tell
me, please?"
But the fat little men only looked at each other and
grinned.
They looked so exactly like a couple of great school-
boys, that Alice couldn't help pointing her finger at Twee-
dledum, and saying "First Boy!"
"Nohow!" Tweedledum cried out briskly, and shut his
mouth up again with a snap.
'Next Boy!" said Alice, passing on to Tweedledee,
a-
l82 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
though she felt quite certain he would only shout out
"Contrariwise!" and so he did.
"You've begun wrong!" cried Tweedledum. "The first
thing in a visit is to say *How d'ye do?' and shake hands!"
And here the two brothers gave each other a hug, and
then they held out the two hands that were free, to shake
hands with her.
Alice did not like shaking hands with either of them
first, for fear of hurting the other one's feelings ; so, as the
best way out of the difficulty, she took hold of both hands
at once: the next moment they were dancing round in a
ring. This seemed quite natural (she remembered after-
wards), and she was not even surprised to hear music
playing: it seemed to come from the tree under which
they were dancing, and it was done (as well as she could
make it out) by the branches rubbing one across the other,
like fiddles and fiddle-sticks.
"But it certainly was funny," (Alice said afterwards,
when she was telling her sister the history of all this,) "to
find myself singing 'Here we go round the mulberry
bush' I don't know when I began it, but somehow I felt
as if I'd been singing it a long long time!"
The other two dancers were fat, and very soon out of
breath. "Four times round is enough for one dance,"
Tweedledum panted out, and they left off dancing as sud-
denly as they had begun : the music stopped at the same
moment.
Then they let go of Alice's hands, and stood looking at
her for a minute: there was a rather awkward pause, as
Alice didn't know how to begin a conversation with
people she had just been dancing with. "It would never
do to say *How d'ye do?' now^' she said to herself: "we
seem to have got beyond that, somehow!"
"I hope you're not much tired ? " she said at last.
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE 183
"Nohow. And thank you very much for asking," said
Tweedledum.
"So much obUged!" added Tweedledee. "You Hke
poetry?"
"Ye-es, pretty well — some poetry," Alice said doubtfully.
"Would you tell me which road leads out of the wood?"
"What shall I repeat to her?" said Tweedledee, look-
ing round at Tweedledum with great solemn eyes, and
not noticing Alice's question.
" 'The Walrus and the Carpenter is the longest," Twee-
dledum replied, giving his brother an affectionate hug.
Tweedledee began instantly :
tf-n 7 . . . - 7 • - • f>
The sun was shining
Here Alice ventured to interrupt him. "If it's very
long," she said, as politely as she could, "would you please
tell me first which road "
Tweedledee smiled gently, and began again:
'^The sun was shining on the sea.
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to ma\e
The billows smooth and bright —
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sul\ily.
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done —
'It's very rude of him,' she said,
'To come and spoil the funV
The sea was wet as wet could be.
The sands were dry as dry.
i84
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the s\y:
No birds were flying overhead —
There were no birds to fly.
-=N<1.V
«^/>i;=^'^2
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand:
They wept li\e anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
'If this were only cleared away'
They said, 'it would be grand I*
'If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,' the Walrus said,
'That they could get it clear?*
'1 doubt it' said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
'O Oysters, come and wal\ with us!'
The Walrus did beseech.
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE
*A pleasant wal\, a pleasant tal\,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than jour,
To give a hand to each!
185
c^/^/i/^r-^-i^-*^
The eldest Oyster loo\ed at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster win\ed his eye.
And shoo\ his heavy head —
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
But jour young Oysters hurried up.
All eager jor the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their jaces washed.
Their shoes were clean and neat —
And this was odd, because, you \now.
They hadnt any jeet.
Four other Oysters jollowed them.
And yet another jour;
l86 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
And thic\ and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more —
All hopping through the frothy waves.
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Wal\ed on a mile or so.
And then they rested on a roc\
Conveniently lotu:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row,
'The time has come/ the Walrus said,
'To tal\ of many things:
Of shoes — and ships — and sealing wax—
Of cabbages — and — \ings —
And why the sea is boiling hot —
And whether pigs have wings/
'But wait a bit/ the Oysters cried,
'Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath.
And all of us are fat!'
'No hurry!' said the Carpenter.
They than\ed him much for that.
'A loaf of bread ' the Walrus said,
'Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed —
Now, if you re ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed/
'But not on us!' the Oysters cried.
Turning a little blue.
'After such \indness, that would be
A dismal thing to doV
'The night is fine/ the Walrus said.
'Do you admire the view?
if
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE
'It was so \ind of you to come!
And you are very niceV
The Carpenter said nothing but
'Cut us another slice,
I wish you were not quite so deaf —
Ft/e had to as\ you twiceV
187
\
'It seems a shame' the Walrus said
'To play them such a tric\.
After we've brought them out so far.
And made them trot so quic\l'
The Carpenter said nothing but
'The butter's spread too thic\l'
-a
7 weep for you' the Walrus said:
7 deeply sympathize.'
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket- handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
l88 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
'O Oysters,* said the Carpenter,
*Youve had a pleasant runt
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none —
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one J'
"I like the Walrus best," said Alice: "because he was a
little sorry for the poor oysters."
"He ate more than the Carpenter, though," said Twee-
dledee. "You see he held his handkerchief in front, so that
the Carpenter couldn't count how many he took: con-
trariwise."
"That was mean!" Alice said indignantly. "Then I like
the Carpenter best — if he didn't eat so many as the Wal-
rus."
"But he ate as many as he could get," said Tweedledum.
This was a puzzler. After a pause, Alice began, "Well!
They were both very unpleasant characters " Here she
checked herself in some alarm, at hearing something that
sounded to her like the puffing of a large steam-engine in
the wood near them, though she feared it was more likely
to be a wild beast. "Are there any lions or tigers about
here?" she asked timidly.
"It's only the Red King snoring," said Tweedledee.
"Come and look at him!" the brothers cried, and they
each took one of Alice's hands, and led her up to where
the King was sleeping.
"Isn't he a lovely sight?" said Tweedledum.
Alice couldn't say honestly that he was. He had a tall
red night-cap on, with a tassel, and he was lying crumpled
up into a sort of untidy heap, and snoring loud "fit to
snore his head off!" as Tweedledum remarked.
"I'm afraid he'll catch cold with lying on the damp
grass," said Alice, who was a very thoughtful little girl.
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE 189
"He's dreaming now," said Tweedledee: "and what do
you think he's dreaming about?"
I AHce said "Nobody can guess that."
I "Why, about youV Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his
hands triumphantly. "And if he left oflf dreaming about
you, where do you suppose you'd be?"
"Where I am ^ow, of course," said Alice.
"Not you!" Tweedledee retorted contemptuously.
"You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in
his dream!"
"If that there King was to wake," added Tweedledum,,
"you'd go out — bang! — just like a candle!"
"I shouldn't!" Alice exclaimed indignantly. "Besides, if
Fm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I
should like to know?"
"Ditto," said Tweedledum.
"Ditto, ditto!" cried Tweedledee.
He shouted this so loud that Alice couldn't help say-
ing "Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you
make so much noise."
190 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"Well, it's no use your talking about waking him," said
Tweedledum, "when you're only one of the things in his
dream. You know very well you're not real."
"I am real!" said Alice, and began to cry.
"You wo'n't make yourself a bit realler by crying,"
Tweedledee remarked: "there's nothing to cry about."
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"If I wasn't real," Alice said — half laughing through
her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous — "I shouldn't be able
to cry."
"I hope you don't suppose those are real tears?" Twee-
dledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt.
"I know they're talking nonsense," Alice thought to
herself: "and it's foolish to cry about it." So she brushed
away her tears, and went on, as cheerfully as she could,
"At any rate I'd better be getting out of the wood, for
really it's coming on very dark. Do you think it's going to
ram r
Tweedledum spread a large umbrella over himself and
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE I9I
his brother, and looked up into it. "No, I don't think it
is/' he said : "at least — not under here. Nohow."
"But it may rain outsideV
"It may — if it chooses," said Tweedledee: "we've no
objection. Contrariwise."
"Selfish things!" thought Alice, and she was just going
to say "Good-night" and leave them, when Tweedledum
sprang out from under the umbrella, and seized her by
the wrist.
"Do you see thatV he said, in a voice choking with pas-
sion, and his eyes grew large and yellow all in a moment,
I as he pointed with a trembling finger at a small white
thing lying under the tree.
I "It's only a rattle," Alice said, after a careful examina-
tion of the little white thing. "Not a x2X\\.^'Sna\e , you
know," she added hastily, thinking that he v^as fright-
ened : "only an old rattle — quite old and broken."
"I know it was!" cried Tweedledum, beginning to
stamp about wildly and tear his hair. "It's spoilt, of
course!" Here he looked at Tweedledee, who immediately
sat down on the ground, and tried to hide himself under
j the umbrella.
Alice laid her hand upon his arm and said, in a soothing
tone, "You needn't be so angry about an old rattle."
"But it isnt old!" Tweedledum cried, in a greater fury
than ever. "It's new, I tell you — I bought it yesterday — my
nice NEW RATTLE!" and his voice rose to a perfect
scream.
All this time Tweedledee was trying his best to fold up
the umbrella, with himself in it : which was such an extra-
ordinary thing to do, that it quite took off Alice's attention
from the angry brother. But he couldn't quite succeed,
and it ended in his rolling over, bundling up in the um-
brella, with only his head out: and there he lay, opening
192
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
-"looking
and shutting his mouth and his large eyes-
more like a fish than anything else," Alice thought.
"Of course you agree to have a battle?" Tweedledum
said in a calmer tone.
"I suppose so," the other sulkily replied, as he crawled
out o£ the umbrella : "only she must help us to dress up,
you know."
So the two brothers went oflE hand-in-hand into the
wood, and returned in a minute with their arms full of
things — such as bolsters, blankets, hearth-rugs, table-
cloths, dish-covers, and coal-scuttles. "I hope you're a good
hand at pinning and tying strings?" Tweedledum re-
marked. "Every one of these things has got to go on,
somehow or other."
Alice said afterwards she had never seen such a fuss
made about anything in all her life — the way those two
bustled about — and the quantity of things they put on —
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE I93
and the trouble they gave her in tying strings and fasten-
ing buttons — "Really they'll be more like bundles of old
clothes than anything else, by the time they're ready!" she
said to herself, as she arranged a bolster round the neck of
Tweedledee, "to keep his head from being cut off," as he
said.
"You know," he added very gravely, "it's one of the
most serious things that can possibly happen to one in a
battle — to get one's head cut off."
Alice laughed loud : but she managed to turn it into a
cough, for fear of hurting his feelings.
"Do I look very pale?" said Tweedledum, coming up to
have his helmet tied on. (He called it a helmet, though it
certainly looked much more like a saucepan.)
"Well — yes — a little^'' Alice replied gently.
"I'm very brave, generally," he went on in a low voice:
"only to-day I happen to have a headache."
"And I've got a toothache!" said Tweedledee, who had
overheard the remark. "I'm far worse than you!"
"Then you'd better not fight to-day," said Alice, think-
ing it a good opportunity to make peace.
"We must have a bit of a fight, but I don't care about
going on long," said Tweedledum. "What's the time
now r
Tweedledee looked at his watch, and said "Half-past
four."
"Let's fight till six, and then have dinner," said Twee-
dledum.
"Very well," the other said, rather sadly: "and she can
watch us — only you'd better not come very close," he add-
ed: "I generally hit every thing I can see — when I get
really excited."
"And / hit every thing within reach," cried Tweedle-
dum, "whether I can see it or not!"
194 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
Alice laughed. "You must hit the trees pretty often, I
should think," she said.
Tweedledum looked round him with a satisfied smile.
"I don't suppose," he said, "there'll be a tree left standing,
for ever so far round, by the time we've finished!"
"And all about a rattle!" said Alice, still hoping to make
them a little ashamed of fighting for such a trifle.
"I shouldn't have minded it so much," said Tweedle-
dum, "if it hadn't been a new one."
"I wish the monstrous crow would come!" thought
Alice.
"There's only one sword, you know," Tweedledum said
to his brother: "but you can have the umbrella — it's quite
as sharp. Only we must begin quick. It's getting as dark
as it can." M
"And darker," said Tweedledee. I
It was getting dark so suddenly that Alice thought there
must be a thunderstorm coming on. "What a thick black
cloud that is!" she said. "And how fast it comes! Why, I
do believe it's got wings!"
"It's the crow!" Tweedledum cried out in a shrill voice
of alarm; and the two brothers took to their heels and
were out of sight in a moment.
Alice ran a little way into the wood, and stopped under
a large tree. "It can never get at me here^' she thought:
"it's far too large to squeeze itself in among the trees. But
I wish it wouldn't flap its wings so — it makes quite a hur-
ricane in the wood — here's somebody's shawl being blown
away!"
Chapter V
Wool and Water
She caught the shawl as she spoke, and looked about
for the owner: in another moment the White Queen
came running wildly through the wood, with both arms
stretched out wide, as if she were flying, and Alice very
civilly went to meet her with the shawl.
"I'm very glad I happened to be in the way," Alice said,
as she helped her to put on her shawl again.
The White Queen only looked at her in a helpless
frightened sort of way, and kept repeating something in a
whisper to herself that sounded like "Bread-and-butter,
bread-and-butter," and Alice felt that if there was to be
any conversation at all, she must manage it herself. So
she began rather timidly: "Am I addressing the White
Queen?"
"Well, yes, if you call that a-dressing," the Queen said.
"It isn't my notion of the thing, at all."
Alice thought it would never do to have an argument
at the very beginning of their conversation, so she smiled
and said "If your Majesty will only tell me the right way
to begin, I'll do it as well as I can."
"But I don't want it done at all!" groaned the poor
Queen. "I've been a-dressing myself for the last two
hours."
It would have been all the better, as it seemed to Alice, if
she had got some one else to dress her, she was so dread-
fully untidy. "Every single thing's crooked," Alice thought
to herself, "and she's all over pins! May I put your
shawl straight for you?" she added aloud.
"I don't know what's the matter with it!" the Queen
said, in a melancholy voice. "It's out of temper, I think.
195
196 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
I've pinned it here, and I've pinned it there, but there's no
pleasing it!"
"It cant go straight, you know, if you pin it all on one
side," Alice said, as she gently put it right for her; "and
dear me, what a state your hair is in!"
"The brush has got entangled in it!" the Queen said
with a sigh. "And I lost the comb yesterday."
Alice carefully released the brush, and did her best to
get the hair into order. "Come, you look rather better
now!" she said, after altering most of the pins. "But really
you should have a lady's-maid!"
"I'm sure I'll take you with pleasure!" the Queen said.
"Two pence a week, and jam every other day."
Alice couldn't help laughing, as she said "I don't want
you to hire w^— and I don't care for jam."
V
WOOL AND WATER
197
"It's very good jam," said the Queen.
"Well, I don't want any to-day, at any rate."
"You couldn't have it if you did want it," the Queen
said. "The rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday — but
never jam to-day T
"It must come sometimes to *jam to-day,' " Alice ob-
jected.
"No, it ca'n't," said the Queen. "It's jam every other
day: to-day isn't any other day, you know."
"I don't understand you," said Alice. "Its dreadfully
confusing!"
"That's the effect of living backwards," the Queen said
kindly : "it always makes one a little giddy at first "
"Living backwards!" Alice repeated in great astonish-
ment. "I never heard of such a thing!"
" — ^but there's one great advantage in it, that one's
memory works both ways."
^-^■^,r^7.
198 THROUGfl THE LOOKING-GLASS
"I'm sure mine only works one way," Alice remarked.
"I ca'n't remember things before they happen."
"It's a poor sort of memory that only works back-
wards," the Queen remarked.
"What sort of things do you remember best?" Alice
ventured to ask.
"Oh, things that happened the week after next," the
Queen replied in a careless tone. "For instance, now," she
went on, sticking a large piece of plaster on her finger as
she spoke, "there's the King's Messenger. He's in prison
now, being punished : and the trial doesn't even begin till
next Wednesday: and of course the crime comes last of
all."
"Suppose he never commits the crime?" said Alice.
"That would be all the better, wouldn't it?" the Queen
said, as she bound the plaster round her finger with a bit
of ribbon.
Alice felt there was no denying that. "Of course it
would be all the better," she said : "but it wouldn't be all
the better his being punished."
"You're wrong there, at any rate," said the Queen.
"Were you ever punished?"
"Only for faults," said Alice.
"And you were all the better for it, I know!" the Queen
said triumphantly.
"Yes, but then I had done the things I was punished
for," said Alice: "that makes all the difference."
"But if you hadnt done them," the Queen said, "that
would have been better still; better, and better, and bet-
ter!" Her voice went higher with each "better," till it got
quite to a squeak at last.
Alice was just beginning to say "There's a mistake
somewhere ," when the Queen began screaming, so
loud that she had to leave the sentence unfinished. "Oh,
WOOL AND WATER I99
oh, oh!" shouted the Queen, shaking her hand about as
if she wanted to shake it off. "My finger's bleeding! Oh,
. oh, oh, oh!"
Her screams were so exactly like the whistle of a steam-
engine, that Alice had to hold both her hands over her
ears.
"What is the matter?" she said, as soon as there was a
chance of making herself heard. "Have you pricked your
finger?"
"I haven't pricked it yet^'' the Queen said, "but I soon
shall — oh, oh, oh!"
"When do you expect to do it?" Alice said, feeling very
much inclined to laugh.
"When I fasten my shawl again," the poor Queen
groaned out: "the brooch will come undone directly. Oh,
oh!" As she said the words the brooch flew open, and the
Queen clutched wildly at it, and tried to clasp it again.
"Take care!" cried Alice. "You're holding it all crook-
ed!" And she caught at the brooch; but it was too late: the
pin had slipped, and the Queen had pricked her finger.
"That accounts for the bleeding, you see," she said to
Alice with a smile. "Now you understand the way things
happen here."
"But why don't you scream now}'' Alice asked, holding
her hands ready to put over her ears again.
"Why, I've done all the screaming already," said the
Queen. "What would be the good of having it all over
3"
agam :
By this time it was getting light. "The crow must have
flown away, I think," said Alice: "I'm so glad it's gone. I
thought it was the night coming on."
"I wish / could manage to be glad!" the Queen said.
"Only I never can remember the rule. You must be very
200 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
happy, living in this wood, and being glad whenever you
like!"
"Only it is so very lonely here!" Alice said in a melan-
choly voice; and, at the thought of her loneliness, two
large tears came rolling down her cheeks.
"Oh, don't go on like that!" cried the poor Queen,
wringing her hands in despair. "Consider what a great
girl you are. Consider what a long way you've come to-
day. Consider what o'clock it is. Consider anything, only
don't cry!"
Alice could not help laughing at this, even in the midst
o£ her tears. "Can you keep from crying by considering
things?" she asked.
"That's the way it's done," the Queen said with great
decision: "nobody can do two things at once, you know.
Let's consider your age to begin with how old are
your
"I'm seven and a half, exactly."
"You needn't say 'exactly,' " the Queen remarked. "I
can believe it without that. Now I'll give you something
to believe. I'm just one hundred and one, five months and
a day."
"I ca'n't believe thatV said Alice.
"Ca'n't you?" the Queen said in a pitying tone. "Try
again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes."
Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said: "one
cant believe impossible things."
"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the
Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for halt-an-
hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six
impossible things before breakfast. There goes the shawl
agam!
The brooch had come undone as she spoke, and a sud-
den gust of wind blew the Queen's shawl across a little
WOOL AND WATER 201
brook. The Queen spread out her arms again and went
flying after it, and this time she succeeded in catching it
herself. "I've got it!" she cried in triumphant tone. "Now
you shall see me pin it on again, all by myself!"
"Then I hope your finger is better now?" Alice said
very politely, as she crossed the little brook after the
Queen.
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"Oh, much better!" cried the Queen, her voice rising in-
to a squeak as she went on. "Much be-etter! Be-etter!
Be-e-e-etter! Be-e-ehh!" The last word ended in a long
bleat, so like a sheep that Alice quite started.
She looked at the Queen, who seemed to have suddenly
wrapped herself up in wool. Alice rubbed her eyes, and
looked again. She couldn't make out what had happened
at all. Was she in a shop? And was that really — was it
really a sheep that was sitting on the other side of the
counter ? Rub as she would, she could make nothing more
of it : she was in a little dark shop, leaning with her elbows
on the counter, and opposite to her was an old Sheep, sit-
ting in an arm-chair, knitting, and every now and then
leaving off to look at her through a great pair of spectacles.
"What is it you want to buy?" the Sheep said at last,
looking up for a moment from her knitting.
"I don't quite know yet," Alice said very gently. "I
should like to look all round me first, if I might."
"You may look in front of you, and on both sides, if you
like," said the Sheep; "but you ca'n't look all round you —
unless you've got eyes at the back of your head."
But these, as it happened, Alice had not got: so she con-
tented herself with turning round, looking at the shelves
as she came to them.
202
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
^^^
The shop seemed to be full of all manner of curious
things — but the oddest part of it all was that, whenever
she looked hard at any shelf, to make out exactly what it
had on it, that particular shelf was always quite empty,
though the others round it were crowded as full as they
could hold.
"Things flow about so here!" she said at last in a plain-
tive tone, after she had spent a minute or so in vainly pur-
suing a large bright thing that looked sometimes like a
doll and sometimes like a work-box, and was always in
the shelf next above the one she was looking at. "And this
one is the most provoking of all — but I'll tell you what
" she added, as a sudden thought struck her. "I'll fol-
WOOL AND WATER 203
low it up to the very top shelf of all. It'll puzzle it to go
through the ceiling, I expect!"
But even this plan failed: the *thing' went through the
ceiling as quietly as possible, as if it were quite used to it.
"Are you a child or a teetotum?" the Sheep said, as she
took up another pair of needles. "You'll make me giddy
soon, if you go on turning round like that." She was now
working with fourteen pairs at once, and Alice couldn't
help looking at her in great astonishment.
"How can she knit with so many?" the puzzled child
thought to herself. "She gets more and more like a porcu-
pine every minute!"
"Can you row?" the Sheep asked, handing her a pair of
knitting-needles as she spoke.
"Yes, a little — but not on land — and not with needles
" Alice was beginning to say, when suddenly the
needles turned into oars in her hands, and she found they
were in a little boat, gliding along between banks: so
there was nothing for it but to do her best.
"Feather!" cried the Sheep, as she took up another pair
of needles.
This didn't sound like a remark that needed any an-
swer: so Alice said nothing, but pulled away. There was
something very queer about the water, she thought, as
every now and then the oars got fast in it, and would
hardly come out again.
"Feather! Feather!" the Sheep cried again, taking more
needles. "You'll be catching a crab directly."
"A dear little crab!" thought Alice. "I should like that."
"Didn't you hear me say Teather'?" the Sheep cried
angrily, taking up quite a bunch of needles.
"Indeed I did," said Alice: "you've said it very often —
and very loud. Please where are the crabs?"
"In the water, of course!" said the Sheep, sticking some
204 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
of the needles into her hair, as her hands were full. "Feath-
er, I say!"
''Why do you say Teather' so often?" Alice asked at
last, rather vexed. "I'm not a bird!"
"You are," said the Sheep: "you're a little goose."
This offended Alice a little, so there was no more con-
versation for a minute or two, while the boat glided gent-
ly on, sometimes among beds of weeds (which made the
oars stick fast in the water, worse than ever), and some-
times under trees, but always with the same tall river-
banks frowning over their heads.
"Oh, please! There are some scented rushes!" Alice
cried in a sudden transport of delight. "There really are —
and such beauties!"
"You needn't say 'please' to me about 'em," the Sheep
said, without looking up from her knitting: "I didn't put
'em there, and I'm not going to take 'em away."
"No, but I meant — please, may we wait and pick
some?" Alice pleaded. "If you don't mind stopping the
boat for a minute."
"How am / to stop it?" said the Sheep. "If you leave off
rowing, it'll stop of itself."
So the boat was left to drift down the stream as it
would, till it glided gently in among the waving rushes.
And then the little sleeves were carefully rolled up, and
the little arms were plunged in elbow-deep, to get hold of
the rushes a good long way down before breaking them
off — and for a while Alice forgot all about the Sheep and
the knitting, as she bent over the side of the boat, with just
the ends of her tangled hair dipping into the water —
while with bright eager eyes she caught at one bunch after
another of the darling scented rushes.
"I only hope the boat won't tipple over!" she said to her-
self. "Oh, what a lovely one! Only I couldn't quite reach
WOOL AND WATER 205
it." And it certainly did seem a little provoking ("almost
as if it happened on purpose," she thought) that, though
she managed to pick plenty of beautiful rushes as the boat
glided by, there was always a more lovely one that she
couldn't reach.
"The prettiest are always further!" she said at last with
a sigh at the obstinacy of the rushes in growing so far off,
as, with flushed cheeks and dripping hair and hands, she
scrambled back into her place, and began to arrange her
new-found treasures.
What mattered it to her just then that the rushes had
begun to fade, and to lose all their scent and beauty, from
the very moment that she picked them? Even real scent-
ed rushes, you know, last only a very little while — and
these, being dream-rushes, melted away almost like snow,
as they lay in heaps at her feet — but Alice hardly noticed
this, there were so many other curious things to think
about.
They hadn't gone much farther before the blade of one
of the oars got fast in the water and wouldn't come out
again (so Alice explained it afterwards), and the conse-
quence was that the handle of it caught her under the
chin, and, in spite of a series of little shrieks of "Oh, oh,
oh!" from poor Alice, it swept her straight off the seat,
and down among the heap of rushes.
However, she wasn't a bit hurt, and was soon up again:
the Sheep went on with her knitting all the while, just as
if nothing had happened. "That was a nice crab you
caught!" she remarked, as Alice got back into her place,
very much relieved to find herself still in the boat.
"Was it? I didn't see it," said Alice, peeping cautiously
over the side of the boat into the dark water. "I wish it
hadn't let go — I should so like a little crab to take home
206
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
with me!" But the Sheep only laughed scornfully, and
went on with her knitting.
"Are there many crabs here?" said Alice.
"Crabs, and all sorts of things," said the Sheep : "plenty
of choice, only make up your mind. Now, what do you
want to buy?"
"To buy!" Alice echoed in a tone that was half aston-
ished and half frightened — for the oars, and the boat.
WOOL AND WATER 207
and the river, had vanished all in a moment, and she was
back again in the little dark shop.
"I should like to buy an egg, please," she said timidly.
"How do you sell them?"
"Fivepence farthing for one — twopence for two," the
Sheep replied.
"Then two are cheaper than one?" Alice said in a sur-
prised tone, taking out her purse.
"Only you must eat them both, if you buy two," said
the Sheep.
"Then I'll have one, please," said Alice, as she put the
money down on the counter. For she thought to herself,
"They mightn't be at all nice, you know."
The Sheep took the money, and put it away in a box:
then she said "I never put things into people's hands — that
would never do — you must get it for yourself." And so
saying, she went off to the other end of the shop, and set
the egg upright on a shelf.
"I wonder why it wouldn't do?" thought Alice, as she
groped her way among the tables and chairs, for the
shop was very dark towards the end. "The egg seems to
get further away the more I walk towards it. Let me see,
is this a chair? Why, it's got branches, I declare! How
very odd to find trees growing here! And actually here's
a little brook! Well, this is the very queerest shop I ever
saw!"
^ TT TP ^
^ TT tF
# # # # #
So she went on, wondering more and more at every
step, as everything turned into a tree the moment she
came up to it, and she quite expected the egg to do the:
same.
Chapter VI
Humpty Dumpty
However, the egg only got larger and larger, and more
and more human : when she had come within a few yards
of it, she saw that it had eyes and a nose and mouth; and,
when she had come close to it, she saw clearly that it was
HUMPTY DUMPTY himself. "It can't be anybody
else!" she said to herself. "I'm as certain of it, as if his
name were written all over his face!"
It might have been written a hundred times, easily, on
that enormous face. Humpty Dumpty was sitting, with
his legs crossed like a Turk, on the top of a high wall —
such a narrow one that Alice quite wondered how he
could keep his balance — and, as his eyes were steadily
fixed in the opposite direction, and he didn't take the
least notice of her, she thought he must be a stufifed figure,
after all.
"And how exactly like an egg he is!" she said aloud,
standing with her hands ready to catch him, for she was
every moment expecting him to fall.
"It's very provoking," Humpty Dumpty said after a
long silence, looking away from Alice as he spoke, "to be
called an egg — t/eryV
"I said you loo\ed like an egg. Sir," Alice gently ex-
plained. "And some eggs are very pretty, you know," she
added, hoping to turn her remark into a sort of compli-
ment.
"Some people," said Humpty Dumpty, looking away
from her as usual, "have no more sense than a baby!"
Alice didn't know what to sav to this: it wasn't at all
like conversation, she thought, as he never said anything
208
HUMPTY DUMPTY 209
to her\ in fact, his last remark was evidently addressed to
a tree — so she stood and softly repeated to herself: —
"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall:
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty in his place again.
"That last line is much too long for the poetry," she
added, almost out loud, forgetting that Humpty Dumpty
would hear her.
"Don't stand chattering to yourself like that," Humpty
Dumpty said, looking at her for the first time, "but tell
me your name and your business."
"My name is Alice, but "
"It's a stupid name enough!" Humpty Dumpty inter-
rupted impatiently. "What does it mean?"
''Must a name mean something?" Alice asked doubt-
fully.
"Of course it must," Humpty Dumpty said with a short
laugh : my name means the shape I am — and a good hand-
some shape it is, too. With a name like yours, you might
be any shape, almost."
"Why do you sit out here all alone?" said Alice, not
wishing to begin an argument.
"Why, because there's nobody with me!" cried Humpty
Dumpty. "Did you think I didn't know the answer to
that} Ask another."
"Don't you think you'd be safer down on the ground?"
Alice went on, not with any idea of making another rid-
dle, but simply in her good-natured anxiety for the queer
creature. "That wall is so very narrow!"
"What tremendously easy riddles you ask!" Humpty
Dumpty growled out. "Of course I don't think so! Why,
if ever I did fall off — which there's no chance of — but //
210 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
I did " Here he pursed up his hps, and looked so
solemn and grand that Alice could hardly help laughing.
"// I did fall/' he went on, ''the King has promised me —
ah, you may turn pale, if you like! You didn't think I was
going to say that, did you? The King has promised me —
with his very own mouth — to — to ■"
"To send all his horses and all his men," Alice inter-
rupted, rather unwisely.
"Now I declare that's too bad!" Humpty Dumpty
cried, breaking into a sudden passion. "You've been listen-
ing at doors — and behind trees — and down chimneys — or
you couldn't have known it!"
"I haven't indeed!" Alice said very gently. "It's in a
book."
• "Ah, well! They may write such things in a booJ^l'
Humpty Dumpty said in a calmer tone. "That's what you
call a History of England, that is. Now, take a good look
at me! I'm one that has spoken to a King, / am: mayhap
you'll never see such another: and, to show you I'm not
proud, you may shake hands with me!" And he grinned
almost from ear to ear, as he leant forwards (and as nearly
as possible fell off the wall in doing so) and offered Alice
his hand. She watched him a little anxiously as she took it.
"If he smiled much more the ends of his mouth might
meet behind," she thought: "And then I don't know what
would happen to his head! I'm afraid it would come off!"
"Yes, all his horses and all his men," Humpty Dumpty
went on. "They'd pick me up again in a minute, they
would! However, this conversation is going on a little too
fast: let's go back to the last remark but one."
"I'm afraid I ca'n't quite remember it," Alice said, very
politely.
"In that case we start afresh," said Humpty Dumpty,
"and it's my turn to choose a subject " ("He talks
HUMPTY DUMPTY 211
about it just as if it was a game!" thought AHce.) "So
here's a question for you. How old did you say you were?"
AHce made a short calculation, and said "Seven years
and six months."
"Wrong!" Humpty Dumpty exclaimed triumphantly.
"You never said a word like it!"
"I thought you meant 'How old are you?' " Alice ex-
plained.
"If I'd meant that, I'd have said it," said Humpty
Dumpty.
Alice didn't want to begin
another argument, so she said
nothing.
Seven years and six
months!" Humpty Dumpty
repeated thoughtfully. "An
uncomfortable sort of age.
Now if you'd asked my ad-
vice, I'd have said 'Leave off
at seven' but it's too late
now.''
212 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"I never ask advice about growing," Alice said indig-
nandy.
"Too proud?" the other enquired.
AUce felt even more indignant at this suggestion. "I
mean," she said, "that one ca'n't help growing older."
''One ca'n't, perhaps," said Humpty Dumpty; "but two
can. With proper assistance, you might have left off at
seven."
"What a beautiful belt you've got on!" Alice suddenly
remarked. (They had had quite enough of the subject of
age, she thought : and, if they really were to take turns in
choosing subjects, it was her turn now.) "At least," she
corrected herself on second thoughts, "a beautiful cravat,
I should have said — no, a belt, I mean — I beg your par-
don!" she added in dismay, for Humpty Dumpty looked
thoroughly offended, and she began to wish she hadn't
chosen that subject. "If only I knew," she thought to her-
self, "which was neck and which was waist!"
Evidently Humpty Dumpty was very angry, though he
said nothing for a minute or two. When he did speak
again, it was in a deep growl.
"It is a — most — provo\ing — thing," he said at last,
"when a person doesn't know a cravat from a belt!"
"I know it's very ignorant of me," Alice said, in so
humble a tone that Humpty Dumpty relented.
"It's a cravat, child, and a beautiful one, as you say. It's
a present from the White King and Queen. There now!"
"Is it really?" said Alice, quite pleased to find that she
had chosen a good subject after all.
"They gave it me," Humpty Dumpty continued
thoughtfully as he crossed one knee over the other and
clasped his hands round it, "they gave it me — for an un-
birthday present."
"I beg your pardon?" Alice said with a puzzled air.
HUMPTY DUMPTY 213
"Fm not offended," said Humpty Dumpty.
"I mean, what is an un-birthday present?"
"A present given when it isn't your birthday, of course."
AUce considered a little. "I like birthday presents best,"
she said at last.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" cried
Humpty Dumpty. "How many days are there in a year?"
"Three hundred and sixty-five," said Alice.
"And how many birthdays have you?"
"One."
"And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five
what remains ? "
"Three hundred and sixty-four, of course."
Humpty Dumpty looked doubtful. "I'd rather see that
done on paper," he said.
Alice couldn't help smiling as she took out her memor-
andum-book, and worked the sum for him:
365
I
364
Humpty Dumpty took the book and looked at it care-
fully. "That seems to be done right " he began.
"You're holding it upside down!" Alice interrupted.
"To be sure I was!" Humpty Dumpty said gaily as she
turned it round for him. "I thought it looked a little queer.
As I was saying, that seems to be done right — though I
haven't time to look it over thoroughly just now — and
that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four
days when you might get un-birthday presents "
"Certainly," said Alice.
"And only one for birthday presents, you know. There's
glory for you!"
214 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"I don't know what you mean by 'glory/ " Alice said.
Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. "Of course
you don't — till I tell you. I meant 'there's a nice knock-
down argument for you!' "
"But 'glory' doesn't mean 'a nice knock-down argu-
ment,' " Alice objected.
"When / use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather
a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean —
neither more nor less."
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make
words mean so many different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to
be master that's all."
Alice was too much puzzled to say anything; so after
a minute Humpty Dumpty began again. "They've a tem-
per, some of them — particularly verbs : they're the proud-
est— adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs —
however, / can manage the whole lot of them! Impenetra-
bility! That's what / say!"
"Would you tell me please," said Alice, "what that
means?"
"Now you talk like a reasonable child," said Humpty
Dumpty, looking very much pleased. "I meant by 'impen-
etrability' that we've had enough of that subject, and it
would be just as well if you'd mention what you mean to
do next, as I suppose you don't mean to stop here all the
rest of your life."
"That's a great deal to make one word mean," Alice
said in a thoughtful tone.
"When I make a word do a lot of work like that," said
Humpty Dumpty, "I always pay it extra."
"Oh!" said Alice. She was too much puzzled to make
any other remark.
"Ah, you should see 'em come round me of a Saturday
HUMPTY DUMPTY 215
night," Humpty Dumpty went on, wagging his head
gravely from side to side, "for to get their wages, you
know."
I (AHce didn't venture to ask what he paid them with;
and so you see I ca'n't tell you,)
"You seem very clever at explaining words. Sir," said
Alice. "Would you kindly tell me the meaning of the
poem called 'J^bberwocky'?"
"Let's hear it," said Humpty Dumpty. "I can explain
^ all the poems that ever were invented — and a good many
that haven't been invented just yet."
This sounded very hopeful, so Alice repeated the first
verse : —
" 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gitnble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."
"That's enough to begin with," Humpty Dumpty in-
terrupted : "there are plenty of hard words there. 'Brillig
means four o'clock in the afternoon — the time when you
begin broiling things for dinner."
"That'll do very well," said Alice: "and 'slithy'?''
"Well, 'slithy' means 'lithe and slimy.' 'Lithe' is the
same as 'active.' You see it's like a portmanteau — there
are two meanings packed up into one word.
"I see it now," Alice remarked thoughtfully: "and
what are ' toves' V
"Well, 'tovcs' are something like badgers — they're some-
thing like lizards — and they're something like cork-
screws."
"They must be very curious-looking creatures."
"They are that," said Humpty Dumpty; "also they
make their nests under sun-dials — also they live on
cheese."
2l6
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
•»• ' "•^'^jti^
,^ a K y^y
w^i^<:ii^^*^.'&.7^
w-s^.--.-
''And what's to 'gyre and to 'gimble?''
"To 'gyre is to go round and round like a gyroscope.
To 'gimble' is to make holes like a gimlet."
"And 'the wabe' is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, I
suppose?" said Alice, surprised at her own ingenuity.
"Of course it is. It's called 'wabe' you know, because it
goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it "
"And a long way beyond it on each side," Alice added.
"Exactly so. Well then, 'mimsy is 'flimsy and miserable'
HUMPTY DUMPTY 217
(there's another portmanteau for you) . And a 'borogove
is a thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out
all round — something like a live mop."
"And then 'mome rathsV^ said Alice. "I'm afraid I'm
giving you a great deal of trouble."
"Well, a WatK is a sort of green pig: but 'mome I'm
not certain about. I think it's short for *from home' —
meaning that they'd lost their way, you know."
"And what does 'outgrabe mean?"
"Well, 'outgribing is something between bellowing and
whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle : however,
you'll hear it done, maybe — down in the wood yonder —
and, when you've once heard it, you'll be quite content.
Who's been repeating all that hard stuff to you?^'
"I read it in a book" said Alice. "But I had some poetry
repeated to me much easier than that, by — Tweedledee, I
think it was."
"As to poetry, you know," said Humpty Dumpty,
stretching out one of his great hands, "/ can repeat poetry
as well as other folk, if it comes to that "
"Oh, it needn't come to that!" Alice hastily said, hoping
to keep him from beginning.
"The piece I'm going to repeat," he went on without
noticing her remark, "was written entirely for your
amusement."
Alice felt that in that case she really ought to listen to it;
so she sat down, and said "Thank you" rather sadly,
it
In winter, when the fields are white,
I sing this song for your delight
only I don't sing it," he added, as an explanation.
"I see you don't," said Alice.
"If you can see whether I'm singing or not, you've
2l8 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
sharper eyes than most," Humpty Dumpty remarked
severely. Ahce was silent.
*'ln spring, when woods are getting green,
ril try and tell you what I mean:"
"Thank you very much," said Alice.
"In summer, when the days are long,
Perhaps you II understand the song:
In autumn, when the leaves are brown,
Ta\e pen and in\, and write it down"
"I will, if I can remember it so long," said Alice.
"You needn't go on making remarks like that," Hump-
ty Dumpty said: "they're not sensible, and they put me
out."
tt
I sent a message to the fish:
I told them 'This is what I wish,'
The little fishes of the sea.
They sent an answer bac\ to me.
The little fishes' answer was
'We cannot do it, Sir, because-
f ff
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand," said Alice.
"It gets easier further on," Humpty Dumpty replied,
'7 sent to them again to say
'It will be better to obey!
The fishes answered, with a grin,
'Why, what a temper you are in!'
I told them once, 1 told them twice:
They would not listen to advice.
HUMPTY DUMPTY
219
/ too\ a \ettle large and new,
Fit for the deed 1 had to do.
My heart went hop, my heart went thump,
1 filled the \ettle at the pump.
Then some one came to me and said
*The little fishes are in bed!
I said to him, I said it plain,
'Then you must wa\e them up again f
I said it very loud and clear:
I went and shouted in his ear.
>>
Humpty Dumpty raised his voice almost to a scream as
he repeated this verse, and Ahce thought, with a shudder,
"I wouldn't have been the messenger for any thin gV
220 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
*'But he was very stiff and proud:
He said, 'You needn't shout so loudV
And he was very proud and stiff:
He said Td go and wa\e them, if-
I too\ a cor /(screw from the shelf:
I went to wa\e them up myself.
And when I found the door was loc\ed,
I pulled and pushed and \ic\ed and \noc\ed.
And when 1 found the door was shut,
I tried to turn the handle, but '*
«
There was a long pause.
"Is that all?" Alice timidly asked.
"That's all," said Humpty Dumpty. "Good-bye."
This was rather sudden, Alice thought: but, after such a
very strong hint that she ought to be going, she felt that it
w^ould hardly be civil to stay. So she got up, and held out
her hand. "Good-bye, till we meet again!" she said as
cheerfully as she could.
"I shouldn't know you again if we did meet," Humpty
Dumpty replied in a discontented tone, giving her one of
his fingers to shake: "you're so exactly like other people."
"The face is what one goes by, generally," Alice re-
marked in a thoughtful tone.
"That's just what I complain of," said Humpty Dump-
ty. "Your face is the same as everybody has — the two eyes,
so " (marking their places in the air with his thumb)
"nose in the middle, mouth under. It's always the same.
Now if you had the two eyes on the same side of the nose,
THE LION AND THE UNICORN 221
for instance — or the mouth at the top — that would be
some help."
"It wouldn't look nice," Alice objected. But Humpty
Dumpty only shut his eyes, and said "Wait till you've
tried."
Alice waited a minute to see if he would speak again,
but, as he never opened his eyes or took any further no-
tice of her, she said "Good-bye!" once more, and, getting
no answer to this, she quietly walked away: but she
couldn't help saying to herself, as she went, "of all the un-
satisfactory " (she repeated this aloud, as it was a great
comfort to have such a long word to say) "of all the un-
satisfactory people I ever met " She never finished the
sentence, for at this moment a heavy crash shook the for-
est from end to end.
Chapter VII
The Lion and the Unicorn
The next moment soldiers came running through the
wood, at first in twos and threes, then ten or twenty to-
gether, and at last in such crowds that they seemed to fill
the whole forest. Alice got behind a tree, for fear of being
run over, and watched them go by.
She thought that in all her life she had never seen
soldiers so uncertain on their feet: they were always trip-
ping over something or other, and whenever one went
down, several more always fell over him, so that the
ground was soon covered with little heaps of men.
Then came the horses. Having four feet, these man-
222
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
aged rather better than the foot-soldiers; but even they
stumbled now and then; and it seemed to be a regular
rule that, whenever a horse stumbled, the rider fell off
instantly. The confusion got worse every moment, and
Alice was very glad to get out of the wood into an open
place, where she found the White King seated on the
ground, busily writing in his memorandum-book.
I've sent them all!" the King cried in a tone of de-
<<T»
THE LION AND THE UNICORN 223
light, on seeing Alice. "Did you happen to meet any sol-
diers, my dear, as you came through the wood?"
"Yes, I did," said AUce: "several thousand, I should
think."
"Four thousand two hundred and seven, that's the ex-
act number," the King said, referring to his book. "I
couldn't send all the horses, you know, because two o£
them are wanted in the game. And I haven't sent the two
Messengers, either. They're both gone to the town. Just
look along the road, and tell me if you can see either of
them."
"I see nobody on the road," said Alice.
"I only wish / had such eyes," the King remarked in a
fretful tone. "To be able to see Nobody! And at that dis-
tance too! Why, it's as much as / can do to see real people,
by this light!"
All this was lost on Alice, who was still looking intent-
ly along the road, shading her eyes with one hand. "I see
somebody now!" she exclaimed at last. "But he's coming
very slowly — and what curious attitudes he goes into!"
(For the Messenger kept skipping up and down, and
wriggling like an eel, as he came along, with his great
hands spread out like fans on each side.)
"Not at all/' said the King. "He's an Anglo-Saxon
Messenger — and those are Anglo-Saxon attitudes. He only
does them when he's happy. His name is Haigha." (He
pronounced it so as to rhyme with 'mayor.')
"I love my love with an H," Alice couldn't help begin-
ning, "because he is Happy. I hate him with an H,
because he is Hideous. I fed him with — with — with
Ham-sandwiches and Hay. His name is Haigha, and he
lives — -"
"He lives on the Hill," the King remarked simply,
without the least idea that he was joining in the game,
224 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
while Alice was still hesitating for the name of a town be-
ginning with H. "The other Messenger's called Hatta. I
must have two, you know — to come and g([). One to come,
and one to go." '
"I beg your pardon?" said Alice.
"It isn't respectable to beg," said the King.
"I only meant that I didn't understand/' said Alice.
"Why one to come and one to go?"
"Don't I tell you?" the King repeated impatiently. "I
must have two — to fetch and carry. One to fetch, and one
to carry."
At this moment the Messenger arrived : he was far too-
much out of breath to say a word, and could only wave
his hands about, and make the most fearful faces at the
poor King.
"This young lady loves you with an H," the King said,.
THE LION AND THE UNICORN 225
introducing Alice in the hope of turning ofj the Messen-
ger's attention from himself — but it was of no use — the
Anglo-Saxon attitudes only got more extraordinary every
moment, while the great eyes rolled wildly from side to
side.
"You alarm me!" said the King. "I feel faint — Give me
a ham-sandwich!"
On which the Messenger, to Alice's great amusement,
opened a bag that hung round his neck, and handed a
sandwich to the King, who devoured it greedily.
"Another sandwich!" said the King.
"There's nothing but hay left now," the Messenger
said, peeping into the bag.
"Hay, then," the King murmured in a faint whisper.
Alice was glad to see that it revived him a good deal.
"There's nothing like eating hay when you're faint," he
remarked to her, as he munched away.
"I should think throwing cold water over you would be
better," Alice suggested: " — or some sal-volatile."
"I didn't say there was nothing better^'' the King re-
plied. "I said there was nothing lil{e it." Which Alice did
not venture to deny.
"Who did you pass on the road?" the King went on,
holding out his hand to the Messenger for some hay.
"Nobody," said the Messenger.
"Quite right," said the King: "this young lady saw him
too. So of course Nobody walks slower than you."
"I do my best," the Messenger said in a sullen tone.
"I'm sure nobody walks much faster than I do!"
"He ca'n't do that," said the King, "or else he'd have
been here first. However, now you've got your breath, you
may tell us what's happened in the town."
"I'll whisper it," said the Messenger, putting his hands
to his mouth in the shape of a trumpet and stooping so as
226 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
to get close to the King's ear. Alice was sorry for this, as
she wanted to hear the news too. However, instead of
whispering, he simply shouted, at the top of his voice,
"They're at it again!"
"Do you call that a whisper?" cried the poor King,
jumping up and shaking himself. "If you do such a thing
again, I'll have you buttered! It went through and through
my head like an earthquake!"
"It would have to be a very tiny earthquake!" thought
Alice. "Who are at it again?" she ventured to ask.
"Why the Lion and the Unicorn, of course," said the
King.
"Fighting for the crown?"
"Yes, to be sure," said the King: "and the best of the
joke is, that it's my crown all the while! Let's run and see
them." And they trotted off, Alice repeating to herself, as
she ran, the words of the old song : —
''The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown:
The Lion beat the Unicorn all round the town.
Some gave them white bread, some gave thein brown:
Some gave them plum-ca\e and drummed them out of
town."
"Does the one that wins get the crown?"
she asked, as well as she could, for the run was putting
her quite out of breath.
"Dear me, no!" said the King. "What an idea!"
"Would you be good enough " Alice panted out,
after running a little further, "to stop a minute — ^just to
get — one's breath again?"
"I'm good enough," the King said, "only I'm not strong
enough. You see, a minute goes by so fearfully quick.
You might as well try to stop a Bandersnatch!"
Alice had no more breath for talking; so they trotted on
THE LION AND THE UNICORN 227
in silence, till they came into sight of a great crowd, in the
middle of which the Lion and Unicorn were fighting.
Thev were in such a cloud of dust, that at first Alice could
not make out which was which; but she soon managed to
distinguish the Unicorn by his horn.
They placed themselves close to where Hatta, the other
Messenger, was standing watching the fight, w^ith a cup
of tea in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the
other.
"He's only just out of prison, and he hadn't finished his
tea when he was sent in," Haigha whispered to Alice:
"and they only give them oyster-shells in there — so you see
he's very hungry and thirsty. How are you, dear child?"
he went on, putting his arm affectionately round Hatta's
neck.
Hatta looked round and nodded, and went on with his
bread-and-butter.
■ •« ita 4» tS* ti$
v.-
228 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"Were you happy in prison, dear child?'' said Haigha.
Hatta looked round once more, and this time a tear or
two trickled down his cheek; but not a word would he say.
"Speak, ca'n't you!" Haigha cried impatiently. But
Hatta only munched away, and drank some more tea.
"Speak, wo'n't you!" cried the King. "How are they
getting on with the fight?"
Hatta made a desperate effort, and swallowed a large
piece of bread-and-butter. "They're getting on very well,"
he said in a choking voice : "each o£ them has been down
about eighty-seven times."
"Then I suppose they'll soon bring the white bread and
the brown?" Alice ventured to remark.
"It's waiting for 'em now," said Hatta; "this is a bit of
it as I'm eating."
There was a pause in the fight just then, and the Lion
and the Unicorn sat down, panting, while the King called
out "Ten minutes allowed for refreshments!" Haigha and
Hatta set to work at once, carrying round trays of white
and brown bread. Alice took a piece to taste, but it was
very dry.
"I don't think they'll fight any more to-day," the King
said to Hatta: "go and order the drums to begin." And
Hatta went bounding away like a grasshopper.
For a minute or two Alice stood silent, watching him.
Suddenly she brightened up. "Look, look!" she cried,
pointing eagerly. "There's the White Queen running
across the country! She came flying out of the wood over
yonder How fast those Queens can run!"
"There's some enemy after her, no doubt," the King
said, without even looking round. "That wood's full of
them."
"But aren't you going to run and help her?" Alice
asked, very much surprised at his taking it so quietly.
THE LION AND THE UNICORN 229
"No use, no use!" said the King. "She runs so fearfully
quick. You might as well try to catch a Bandersnatch!
But I'll make a memorandum about her, if you like
She's a dear good creature," he repeated softly to him-
self, as he opened his memorandum-book, "Do you spell
^creature' with a double 'e'?"
At this moment the Unicorn sauntered by them, with
his hands in his pockets. "I had the best of it this time?"
he said to the King, just glancing at him as he passed.
"A little — a little," the King replied, rather nervously.
^'You shouldn't have run him through with your horn,
you know."
"It didn't hurt him," the Unicorn said carelessly, and
he was going on, when his eye happened to fall upon
Alice : he turned round instantly, and stood for some time
looking at her with an air of the deepest disgust.
'What — is — this?" he said at last.
'This is a child!" Haigha rephed eagerly, coming in
front of Ahce to introduce her, and spreading out both his
hands towards her in an Anglo-Saxon attitude. "We
only found it to-day. It's as large as life, and twice as
natural!"
"I always thought they were fabulous monsters!" said
the Unicorn. "Is it alive?"
"It can talk," said Haigha solemnly.
The Unicorn looked dreamily at Alice, and said "Talk,
child."
Alice could not help her lips curling up into a smile as
she began: "Do you know, I always thought Unicorns
were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive be-
fore!"
"Well, now that we have seen each other," said the Uni-
corn, "if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a
bargain?"
230
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
- ^*\0'' 111'
"Yes, i£ you like," said Alice.
"Come, fetch out the plum-cake, old man!" the Uni-
corn went on, turning from her to the King. "None of
your brown bread for me!"
"Certainly — certainly!" the King muttered, and beck*
oned to Haigha. "Open the bag!" he whispered. "Quick!
Not that one— that's full of hay!"
Haigha took a large cake out of the bag, and gave it to
Alice to hold, while he got out a dish and carving-knife,
How they all came out of it Alice couldn't guess. It was
just like a conjuring-trick, she thought.
The Lion had joined them while this was going on: he
looked very tired and sleepy, and his eyes were half shut.
"What's this!" he said, blinking lazily at Alice, and speak-
ing in a deep hollow tone that sounded like the tolling of
a great bell.
"Ah, what is it, now?" the Unicorn cried eagerly.
"You'll never guess! / couldn't."
THE LION AND THE UNICORN 23I
The Lion looked at Alice wearily. "Are you animal —
or vegetable — or mineral?" he said, yawning at every
other word.
"It's a fabulous monster!" the Unicorn cried out, before
Alice could reply.
"Then hand round the plum-cake, Monster," the Lion
said, lying down and putting his chin on his paws. "And
sit down, both of you," (to the King and the Unicorn) :
"fair play with the cake, you know!"
The King was evidently very uncomfortable at having
to sit down between the two great creatures; but there
was no other place for him.
"What a fight we might have for the crown, nowV the
Unicorn said, looking slyly up at the crown, which the
poor King was nearly shaking off his head, he trembled
so much.
"I should win easy," said the Lion.
"I'm not so sure of that," said the Unicorn.
"Why, I beat you all round the town, you chicken!" the
Lion replied angrily, half getting up as he spoke.
Here the King interrupted, to prevent the quarrel go-
ing on: he was very nervous, and his voice quite quivered.
"All round the town?" he said. "That's a good long way.
Did you go by the old bridge, or the market-place? You
get the best view by the old bridge."
"I'm sure I don't know," the Lion growled out as he
lay down again. "There was too much dust to see any-
thing. What a time the Monster is, cutting up that cake!"
Alice had seated herself on the bank of a little brook,
with the great dish on her knees, and was sawing away
diligently with the knife. "It's very provoking!" she said,
in reply to the Lion (she was getting quite used to being
called 'the Monster'). "I've cut several slices already, but
they always join on again!"
232 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"You don't know how to manage Looking-glass cakes,"
the Unicorn remarked. "Hand it round first, and cut it
afterwards."
This sounded nonsense, but AUce very obediently got
up, and carried the dish round, and the cake divided itself
into three pieces as she did so. ''Now cut it up," said the
Lion, as she returned to her place with the empty dish.
"I say, this isn't fair!" cried the Unicorn, as Alice sat
with the knife in her hand, very much puzzled how to
begin. "The Monster has given the Lion twice as much
as me!
"She's kept none for herself, anyhow," said the Lion.
"Do you like plum-cake, Monster?"
''it's my own invention" 233
But before Alice could answer him, the drums began.
Where the noise came from, she couldn't make out:
the air seemed full of it, and it rang through and through
her head till she felt quite deafened. She started to her
feet and sprang across the little brook in her terror, and
had just time to see the Lion and the Unicorn rise to their
TP TP TV" "JT
TT ^ w
n^ nv" ^r T^
feet, with angry looks at being interrupted in their feast,
before she dropped to her knees, and put her hands over
her ears, vainly trying to shut out the dreadful uproar.
"If that doesn't 'drum them out of town,' " she thought
to herself, "nothing ever will!"
Chapter VIII
"It's My Own Invention"
After a while the noise seemed gradually to die away,
till all was dead silence, and Alice lifted up her head in
some alarm. There was no one to be seen, and her first
thought was that she must have been dreaming about the
Lion and the Unicorn and those queer Anglo-Saxon Mes-
sengers. However, there was the great dish still lying at
her feet, on which she had tried to cut the plum-cake,
"So I wasn't dreaming, after all," she said to herself, "un-
less— unless we're all part of the same dream. Only I do
hope it's my dream, and not the Red King's? I don't like
belonging to another person's dream," she went on in a
rather complaining tone: "I've a great mind to go and
wake him, and see what happens!"
234 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
At this moment her thoughts were interrupted by a
loud shouting of "Ahoy! Ahoy! Check!" and a Knight,
dressed in crimson armour, came galloping down upon
her, brandishing a great club. Just as he reached her, the
horse stopped suddenly: "You're my prisoner!" the
Knight cried, as he tumbled off his horse.
Startled as she was, Alice was more frightened for him
than for herself at the moment, and watched him with
some anxiety as he mounted again. As soon as he was
comfortably in the saddle, he began once more "You're
my " but here another voice broke in "Ahoy! Ahoy!
Check!" and Alice looked round in some surprise for the
new enemy.
This time it was a White Knight. He drew up at Alice's
side, and tumbled off his horse just as the Red Knight had
done : then he got on again, and the two Knights sat and
looked at each other for some time without speaking.
Alice looked from one to the other in some bewilderment.
"She's my prisoner, you know!" the Red Knight said
at last.
"Yes, but then / came and rescued her!" the White
Knight replied.
"Well, we must fight for her, then," said the Red
Knight, as he took up his helmet (which hung from the
saddle, and was something the shape of a horse's head)
and put it on.
"You will observe the Rules of Battle, of course?" the
White Knight remarked, putting on his helmet too.
"I always do," said the Red Knight, and they began
banging away at each other with such fury that Alice
got behind a tree to be out of the way of the blows.
"I wonder, now, what the Rules of Battle are," she said
to herself, as she watched the fight, timidly peeping out
from her hiding-place. "One Rule seems to be, that if one
"it's my own invention"
235
Knight hits the other, he knocks him off his horse; and,
if he misses, he tumbles off himself — and another Rule
seems to be that they hold their clubs with their arms, as
if they were Punch and Judy What a noise they make
when they tumble! Just like a whole set of fire-irons fall-
ing into the fender! And how quiet the horses are! They
let them get on and off them just as if they were tables!"
Another Rule of Battle, that Alice had not noticed,
seemed to be that they always fell on their heads; and the
battle ended with their both falling off in this way, side by
side. When they got up again, they shook hands, and then
the Red Knight mounted and galloped off.
236 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"It was a glorious victory, wasn't it?" said the White
Knight, as he came up panting.
"I don't know," AUce said doubtfully. "I don't want to
be anybody's prisoner. I want to be a Queen."
"So you will, when you've crossed the next brook," said
the White Knight. "I'll see you safe to the end of the
wood — and then I must go back, you know. That's the
end of my move."
"Thank you very much," said Alice. "May I help you
off with your helmet?" It was evidently more than he
could manage by himself : however she managed to shake
him out of it at last.
"Now one can breathe more easily," said the Knight,
putting back his shaggy hair with both hands, and turn-
ing his gentle face and large mild eyes to Alice. She
thought she had never seen such a strange-looking soldier
in all her life.
He was dressed in tin armour, which seemed to fit him
very badly, and he had a queer-shaped little deal box
fastened across his shoulders, upside-down, and with the
lid hanging open. Alice looked at it with great curiosity.
"I see you're admiring my little box," the Knight said
in a friendly tone. "It's my own invention — to keep clothes
and sandwiches in. You see I carry it upside-down, so that
the rain ca'n't get in."
"But the things can get out^' Alice gently remarked.
"Do you know the lid's open?"
"I didn't know it," the Knight said, a shade of vexa-
tion passing over his face. "Then all the things must have
fallen out! And the box is no use without them." He un-
fastened it as he spoke, and was just going to throw it
into the bushes, when a sudden thought seemed to strike
him, and he hung it carefully on a tree. "Can you guess
whv I did that?" he said to Alice.
''it's my own invention" 237,
Alice shook her head.
"In hopes some bees may make a nest in it — then I
should get the honey."
"But you've got a bee-hive — or something like one —
fastened to the saddle," said Alice.
"Yes, it's a very good bee-hive," the Knight said in a
discontented tone, "one of the best kind. But not a single
bee has come near it yet. And the other thing is a mouse-
trap. I suppose the mice keep the bees out — or the bees
keep the mice out, I don't know which."
"I was wondering what the mouse-trap was for," said
Alice. "It isn't very likely there would be any mice on
the horse's back."
"Not very likely, perhaps," said the Knight; "but, if
they do come, I don't choose to have them running all
about."
"You see," he went on after a pause, "it's as well to be
provided for everything. That's the reason the horse has
all th6^e anklets round his feet."
"But what are they for?" Alice asked in a tone of great
curiosity.
"To guard against the bites of sharks," the Knight re-
plied. "It's an invention of my own. And now help me on.
I'll go with you to the end of the wood — What's that
dish for?"
"It's meant for plum-cake," said Alice.
"We'd better take it with us," the Knight said. "It'll
come in handy if we find any plum-cake. Help me to get
it into this bag."
This took a long time to manage, though Alice held the
bag open very carefully, because the knight was so very
awkward in putting in the dish: the first two or three
times that he tried he fell in himself instead. "It's rather a
tight fit, you see," he said, as they got it in at last; "there
238 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
are so many candlesticks in the bag." And he hung it to
the saddle, which was already loaded with bunches of
carrots, and fire-irons, and many other things.
"I hope you've got your hair well fastened on?" he
continued, as they set off.
"Only in the usual way," Alice said, smiling.
"That's hardly enough," he said, anxiously. "You see
the wind is so very strong here. It's as strong as soup."
"Have you invented a plan for keeping the hair from
being blown oflF?" Alice enquired.
"Not yet," said the Knight. "But I've got a plan for
keeping it from jailing off."
"I should like to hear it, very much."
"First you take an upright stick," said the Knight.
''it's my own invention" 239
"Then you make your hair creep up it, like a fruit-tree.
Now the reason hair falls off is because it hangs down —
things never fall upwards^ you know. It's a plan of my
own invention. You may try it if you like."
It didn't sound a comfortable plan, Alice thought, and
for a few minutes she walked on in silence, puzzling over
the idea, and every now and then stopping to help the
poor Knight, who certainly was not a good rider.
Whenever the horse stopped (which it did very often),
he fell off in front; and, whenever it went on again,
(which it generally did rather suddenly), he fell off be-
hind. Otherwise he kept on pretty well, except that he
had a habit of now and then falling off sideways; and, as
he generally did this on the side on which Alice was
walking, she soon found that it was the best plan not to
walk quite close to the horse.
"I'm afraid you've not had much practice in riding,"
she ventured to say, as she was helping him up from his
fifth tumble.
The Knight looked very much surprised, and a little
offended at the remark. "What makes you say that?" he
asked, as he scrambled back into the saddle, keeping hold
of Alice's hair with one hand, to save himself from falling
over on the other side.
"Because people don't fall off quite so often, when
they've had much practice."
"I've had plenty of practice," the Knight said very
gravely: "plenty of practice!"
Alice could think of nothing better to say than "In-
deed?" but she said it as heartily as she could. They went
on a little way in silence after this, the Knight with his
eyes shut, muttering to himself, and Alice watching anx-
iously for the next tumble.
"The great art of riding," the Knight suddenly began
240 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
in a loud voice, waving his right arm as he spoke, "is to
^ keep " Here the sentence ended as suddenly as it had
begun, as the Knight fell heavily on the top of his head
exactly in the path where Alice was walking. She was
quite frightened this time, and said in an anxious tone, as
she picked him up, "I hope no bones are broken?"
"None to speak of," the Knight said, as if he didn't
mind breaking two or three of them. "The great art of
riding, as I was saying, is — to keep your balance prop-
erly. Like this, you know "
He let go the bridle, and stretched out both his arms to
show Alice what he meant, and this time he fell flat on his
back, right under the horse's feet.
"Plenty of practice!" he went on repeating, all the time
that Alice was getting him on his feet again. "Plenty of
practice!"
"It's too ridiculous!" cried Alice, losing all her patience
this time. "You ought to have a wooden horse on wheels,
that you ought!"
"Does that kind go smoothly?" the Knight asked in a
tone of great interest, clasping his arms round the horse's
neck as he spoke, just in time to save himself from tum-
bling off again.
"Much more smoothly than a live horse," Alice said,
with a little scream of laughter, in spite of all she could do
to prevent it.
"I'll get one," the Knight said thoughtfully to himself.
"One or two — several."
There was a short silence after this, and then the Knight
went on again. "I'm a great hand at inventing things.
Now, I daresay you noticed, the last time you picked me
up, that I was looking rather thoughtful?"
"You were a little grave," said Alice.
"it's my own invention" 241
"Well, just then I was inventing a new way of getting
over a gate — would you like to hear it?"
"Very much indeed," Alice said politely.
"I'll tell you how I came to think o£ it," said the Knight.
"You see, I said to myself 'The only difficulty is with the
feet: the head is high enough already.' Now, first I put
my head on the top of the gate — then the head's high
enough — then I stand on my head — then the feet are high
enough, you see — then I'm over, you see."
"Yes, I suppose you'd be over when that was done,"
Alice said thoughtfully: "but don't you think it would be
rather hard?"
"I haven't tried it yet," the Knight said, gravely; "so I
ca'n't tell for certain — but I'm afraid it would be a little
hard."
He looked so vexed at the idea, that Alice changed the
subject hastily. "What a curious helmet you've got!" she
said cheerfully. "Is that your invention too?"
The Knight looked down proudly at his helmet, which
hung from the saddle. "Yes," he said; "but I've invented
a better one than that — like a sugar-loaf. When I used to
wear it, if I fell off the horse, it always touched the
ground directly. So I had a very little way to fall, you see
— But there was the danger of falling into it, to be sure.
That happened to me once — and the worst of it was, be-
fore I could get out again, the other White Knight came
and put it on. He thought it was his own helmet."
The Knight looked so solemn about it that Alice did
not dare to laugh. "I'm afraid you must have hurt him,"
she said in a trembling voice, "being on the top of his
head."
"I had to kick him, of course," the Knight said, very
seriously. "And then he took the helmet oflf again — but it
242 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
took hours and hours to get me out. I was as fast as — as
Hghtning, you know."
"But that's a different kind of fastness," Ahce objected.
The Knight shook his head. "It was all kinds of fast-
ness with me, I can assure you!" he said. He raised his
hands in some excitement as he said this, and instantly
rolled out of the saddle, and fell headlong into a deep
ditch.
Alice ran to the side of the ditch to look for him. She
was rather startled by the fall, as for some time he had
kept on very well, and she was afraid that he really was
hurt this time. However, though she could see nothing
but the soles of his feet, she was much relieved to hear
that he was talking on in his usual tone. "All kinds of
fastness," he repeated: "but it was careless of him to put
another man's helmet on — with the man in it, too."
"How ca7i you go on talking so quietly, head down-
wards?" Alice asked, as she dragged him out by the feet,
and laid him in a heap on the bank.
The Knight looked surprised at the question. "What
''it's my own invention" 243
does it matter where my body happens to be?" he said.
"My mind goes on working all the same. In fact, the more
head-downwards I am, the more I keep inventing new
things."
"Now the cleverest thing of the sort that I ever did,"
he went on after a pause, "was inventing a new pudding
during the meat-course."
"In time to have it cooked for the next course?" said
Alice. "Well, that was quick work, certainly!"
"Well, not the next course," the Knight said in a slow
thoughtful tone: "no, certainly not the next course''
"Then it would have to be the next day. I suppose you
wouldn't have two pudding-courses in one dinner?"
"Well, not the next day," the Knight repeated as before :
"not the next day. In fact," he went on, holding his head
down, and his voice getting lower and lower, "I don't
believe that pudding ever was cooked! In fact, I don't be-
lieve that pudding ever will be cooked ! And yet it was a
very clever pudding to invent."
"What did you mean it to be made of?" Alice asked,
hoping to cheer him up, for the poor Knight seemed quite
low-spirited about it.
"It began with blotting-paper," the Knight answered
with a groan.
"That wouldn't be very nice, I'm afraid "
"Not very nice alone,'' he interrupted, quite eagerly:
"but you've no idea what a difference it makes, mixing it
with other things — such as gunpowder and sealing-wax.
And here I must leave you." They had just come to the
end of the wood.
Alice could only look puzzled: she was thinking of
the pudding.
"You are sad," the Knight said in an anxious tone: "let
me sing you a song to comfort you."
244 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"Is it very long?" Alice asked, for she had heard a good
deal of poetry that day.
"It's long," said the Knight, "but's it's very, very beau-
tiful. Everybody that hears me sing it — either it brings
the tears into their eyes, or else "
"Or else what?" said Alice, for the Knight had made a
sudden pause.
"Or else it doesn't, you know. The name of the song is
called 'Haddoc\s EyesJ "
"Oh, that's the name of the song, is it?" Alice said, try-
ing to feel interested.
"No, you don't understand," the Knight said, looking a
little vexed. "That's what the name is called. The name
really is 'The Aged Aged Man' "
"Then I ought to have said 'That's what the song is
called'?" Alice corrected herself.
"No, you oughtn't: that's quite another thing! The
song is called ''Ways and Means' \ but that's only what it's
called^ you know!"
"Well, what is the song, then?" said Alice, who was by
this time completely bewildered.
"I was coming to that," the Knight said. "The song
really is 'A-sitting On A Gate': and the tune's my own
invention."
So saying, he stopped his horse and let the reins fall on
its neck: then, slowly beating time with one hand, and
with a faint smile lighting up his gentle foolish face, as if
he enjoyed the music of his song, he began.
Of all the strange things that Alice saw in her journey
Through The Looking-Glass, this was the one that she
always remembered most clearly. Years afterwards she
could bring the whole scene back again, as if it had been
only yesterday — the mild blue eyes and kindly smile of
the Knight — the setting sun gleaming through his hair,
''it's my own invention" 245
and shining on his armour in a blaze of Hght that quite
dazzled her — the horse quietly moving about, with the
reins hanging loose on his neck, cropping the grass at
her feet — and the black shadows of the forest behind — all
this she took in like a picture, as, with one hand shading
her eyes, she leant against a tree, watching the strange
pair, and listening, in a half-dream, to the melancholy
music of the song.
"But the tune isn't his own invention," she said to her-
self: "it's 7 give thee all, I can no more' " She stood and
listened very attentively, but no tears came into her eyes.
'77/ tell thee everything I can:
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.
'Who are you, aged man?* I said.
'And how is it you live?'
And his answer trickled through my head,
L.i\e water through a sieve.
He said 7 loo\ for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I ma\e them into mutton-pies,
And sell them, in the street.
I sell them unto men,' he said,
'Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread —
A trifle, if you please.'
But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man said,
246 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
/ cried 'Come, tell me how you live!*
And thumped him on the head.
His accents mild too\ up the tale:
He said *l go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they ma\e a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar-Oil —
Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil/
But I was thinking of a way
To feed oneself on batter.
And so go on from- day to day
Getting a little fatter.
I shoo\ him well from side to side,
Until his face was blue:
'Come, tell me how you live,' I cried,
'And what it is you do!'
''it's my own invention" 247
He said 7 hunt for had docks' eyes
Among the heather bright,
And tvor\ them into waistcoat-buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
Or coin of silvery shine.
But for a copper halfpenny.
And that tuill purchase nine,
'I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs:
I sometimes search the grassy \nolls
For wheels of Hansom-cabs.
And that's the way' {he gave a winfQ
'By which I get my wealth —
And very gladly will I drin\
Your Honour s noble health.'
I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To \eep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I than\ed him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth.
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drin\ my noble health.
And now, if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe.
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to \now —
Whose loo\ was mild, whose speech was slow
Whose hair was whiter than the snow.
248 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
Whose face was very li\e a crow,
With eyes, li\e cinders, all aglow.
Who seemed distracted with his woe.
Who roc\ed his body to and fro.
And muttered mumblingly and low.
As if his mouth were full of dough.
Who snorted li\e a bu-ffalo
That summer evening long ago,
A-sitting on a gate.
As the Knight sang the last words of the ballad, he
gathered up the reins, and turned his horse's head along
the road by which they had come. "You've only a few
yards to go/' he said, "down the hill and over that little
brook, and then you'll be a Queen But you'll stay and
see me off first?" he added as Alice turned with an eager
look in the direction to which he pointed. "I sha'n't be
long. You'll wait and wave your handkerchief when I get
to that turn in the road! I think it'll encourage me, you
see."
"Of course I'll wait," said Alice: "and thank you very
much for coming so far — and for the song — I liked it very
much."
"I hope so," the Knight said doubtfully : "but you didn't
cry so much as I thought you would."
So they shook hands, and then the Knight rode slowly
away into the forest. "It wo'n't take long to see him o^,
I expect," Alice said to herself, as she stood watching him.
"There he goes! Right on his head as usual! However,
he gets on again pretty easily — that comes of having so
many things hung round the horse " So she went on
talking to herself, as she watched the horse walking leis-
urely along the road, and the Knight tumbling off, first
on one side and then on the other. After the fourth or
fifth tumble he reached the turn, and then she waved her
''it's my own invention" 249>
handkerchief to him, and waited till he was out of sight.
"I hope it encouraged him/' she said, as she turned to
run down the hill : "and now for the last brook, and to be
a Queen! How grand it sounds!" A very few steps
brought her to the edge of the brook. "The Eighth Square
at last!" she cried as she bounded across, and threw her-
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self down to rest on a lawn as soft as moss, with little
flowerbeds dotted about it here and there. "Oh, how glad
I am to get here! And what is this on my head?" she ex-
claimed in a tone of dismay, as she put her hands up to
something very heavy, that fitted tight all around her
head.
250 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"But how can it have got there without my knowing
it?" she said to herself, as she hfted it oflf, and set it on her
lap to make out what it could possibly be.
It was a golden crown.
Chapter IX
Queen Alice
"Well, this is grand!" said Alice. "I never expected I
should be a Queen so soon — and I'll tell you what it is,
your Majesty," she went on, in a severe tone (she was
always rather fond of scolding herself), "It'll never do
for you to be lolling about on the grass like that! Queens
have to be dignified, you know!"
So she got up and walked about — rather stiffly just at
first, as she was afraid that the crown might come off : but
she comforted herself with the thought that there was
nobody to see her, "and if I really am a Queen," she said
as she sat down again, "I shall be able to manage it quite
well in time."
Everything was happening so oddly that she didn't feel
a bit surprised at finding the Red Queen and the White
Queen sitting close to her, one on each side: she would
have liked very much to ask them how they came there,
but she feared it would not be quite civil. However, there
would be no harm, she thought, in asking if the game was
over. "Please, would you tell me " she began, looking
timidly at the Red Queen.
"Speak when you're spoken to!" the Queen sharply in-
terrupted her.
"But if everybody obeyed that rule," said Alice, who
was always ready for a little argument, "and if you only
QUEEN ALICE 25I
spoke when you were spoken to, and the other person al-
ways waited for you to begin, you see nobody would ever
say anything, so that "
"Ridiculous!" cried the Queen. "Why, don't you see,
child " here she broke off with a frown, and, after
thinking for a minute, suddenly changed the subject of
the conversation. "What do you mean by 'If you really are
a Queen' ? What right have you to call yourself so ? You
ca'n't be a Queen, you know, till you've passed the proper
examination. And the sooner we begin it, the better."
"I only said *if'!" poor Alice pleaded in a piteous tone.
The two Queens looked at each other, and the Red
Queen remarked, with a little shudder, "She says she only
said 'if "
"But she said a great deal more than that!" the White
Queen moaned, wringing her hands. "Oh, ever so much
more than that!"
"So you did, you know," the Red Queen said to Alice.
"Always speak the truth — think before you speak — and
write it down afterwards."
"I'm sure I didn't mean " Alice was beginning, but
the Red Queen interrupted her impatiently.
"That's just what I complain of! You should have
meant! What do you suppose is the use of a child without
any meaning? Even a joke should have some meaning —
and a child's more important than a joke, I hope. You
couldn't deny that, even if you tried with both hands."
"I don't deny things with my hands/' Alice objected.
"Nobody said you did," said the Red Queen. "I said you
couldn't if you tried."
"She's in that state of mind," said the White Queen,
"that she wants to deny something — only she doesn't
know what to deny!"
"A nasty, vicious temper," the Red Queen remarked;
252 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
and then there was an uncomfortable silence for a minute
or two.
The Red Queen broke the silence by saying, to the
White Queen, "I invite you to Alice's dinner-party this
afternoon."
The White Queen smiled feebly, and said "And I in-
vite you''
'" ■ ■ '^:^t^^,^i^^y
"I didn't know I was to have a party at all," said Alice;
"but, if there is to be one, I think / ought to invite the
guests."
"We gave you the opportunity of doing it," the Red
Queen remarked: "but I daresay you've not had many
lessons in manners yet."
"Manners are not taught in lessons," said Alice. "Les-
sons teach you to do sums, and things of that sort."
"Can you do Addition?" the White Queen asked.
"What's one and one and one and one and one and one
and one and one and one and one?"
"I don't know," said Alice. "I lost count."
QUEEN ALICE 253
"She ca'n't do Addition," the Red Queen interrupted.
"Can you do Subtraction? Take nine from eight."
"Nine from eight I ca'n't, you know," AUce repHed
very readily: "but "
"She ca'n't do Subtraction," said the White Queen.
"Can you do Division? Divide a loaf by a knife — what's
the answer to thatV
"I suppose " Alice was beginning, but the Red
Queen answered for her. "Bread-and-butter, of course.
Try another Subtraction sum. Take a bone from a dog:
what remains?"
Alice considered. "The bone wouldn't remain, of
course, if I took it — and the dog wouldn't remain: it
would come to bite me — and I'm sure / shouldn't re-
mam!
"Then you think nothing would remain?" said the
Red Queen.
"I think that's the answer."
"Wrong, as usual," said the Red Queen: "the dog's
temper would remain."
"But I don't see how "
"Why, look here!" the Red Queen cried. "The dog
would lose its temper, wouldn't it?"
"Perhaps it would," Alice replied cautiously.
"Then if the dog went away, its temper would re-
main!" the Queen exclaimed triumphantly.
Aliee said, as gravely as she could, "They might go dif-
ferent ways." But she couldn't help thinking to herself
"What dreadful nonsense we are talking!"
"She ca'n't do sums a bitV the Queens said together,
with great emphasis.
"Can you do sums?" Alice said, turning suddenly on
the White Queen, for she didn't like being found fault
with so much.
254 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
The Queen gasped and shut her eyes. "I can do Addi-
tion," she said, "if you give me time — but I ca'n't do Sub-
traction under any circumstances!"
"Of course you know your ABC?" said the Red Queen.
"To be sure I do," said AUce.
"So do I," the White Queen whispered: "we'll often
say it over together, dear. And I'll tell you a secret — I can
read words of one letter! Isn't that grand? However,
don't be discouraged. You'll come to it in time."
Here the Red Queen began again. "Can you answer
useful questions?" she said. "How is bread made?"
"I know thatV Alice cried eagerly. "You take some
flour "
"Where do you pick the flower?" the White Queen
asked: "In a garden or in the hedges?"
"Well, it isn't pic\ed at all," Alice explained: "it's
ground "
"How many acres of ground?" said the White Queen.
"You mustn't leave out so many things."
"Fan her head!" the Red Queen anxiously interrupted.
"She'll be feverish after so much thinking." So they set to
work and fanned her with bunches of leaves, till she had
to beg them to leave off, it blew her hair about so.
"She's all right again now," said the Red Queen. "Do
you know Languages? What's the French for fiddle-de-
dee?"
"Fiddle-de-dee's not English," Alice replied gravely.
"Who ever said it was?" said the Red Queen.
Alice thought she saw a way out of the difficulty, this
time. "If you'll tell me what language 'fiddle-de-dee' is,
I'll tell you the French for it!" she exclaimed trium-
phantly.
But the Red Queen drew herself up rather stiffly, and
said "Queens never make bargains."
QUEEN ALICE 255
"I wish Queens never asked questions," Alice thought
to herself.
"Don't let us quarrel," the White Queen said in an
anxious tone. "What is the cause of lightning?"
"The cause of lightning," Alice said very decidedly, for
she felt quite certain about this, "is the thunder — no, no!"
she hastily corrected herself. "I meant the other way."
"It's too late to correct it," said the Red Queen: "when
you've once said a thing, that fixes it, and you must take
the consequences."
"Which reminds me " the White Queen said, look-
ing down and nervously clasping and unclasping her
hands, "we had such a thunderstorm last Tuesday — I
mean one of the last set of Tuesdays, you know."
Alice was puzzled. "In our country,^' she remarked,
"there's only one day at a time."
The Red Queen said "That's a poor thin way of do-
ing things. Now here^ we mostly have days and nights
two or three at a time, and sometimes in the winter we
take as many as five nights together — for warmth, you
know."
"Are five nights warmer than one night, then?" Alice
ventured to ask.
"Five times as warm, of course."
"But they should be five times as cold^ by the same
rule "
"Just so!" cried the Red Queen. "Five times as warm,
and five times as cold — just as I'm five times as rich as
you are, and five times as clever!"
Alice sighed and gave it up. "It's exactly like a riddle
with no answer!" she thought.
"Humpty Dumpty saw it too," the White Queen went
on in a low voice, more as if she were talking to herself.
"He came to the door with a corkscrew in his hand "
256 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"What did he want?" said the Red Queen.
"He said he would come in," the White Queen went
on, "because he was looking for a hippopotamus. Now,
as it happened, there wasn't such a thing in the house,
that morning."
"Is there generally?" Alice asked in an astonished tone.
"Well, only on Thursdays," said the Queen.
"I know what he came for," said Alice: "he wanted to
punish the fish, because "
Here the White Queen began again. "It was such a
thunderstorm, you ca'n't think!" ("She never could, you
know," said the Red Queen.) "And part of the roof came
oflF, and ever so much thunder got in — and it went rolling
round the room in great lumps — and knocking over the
tables and things — till I was so frightened, I couldn't re-
member my own name!"
Alice thought to herself "I never should try to remem-
ber my name in the middle of an accident! Where would
be the use of it?" but she did not say this aloud, for fear
of hurting the poor Queen's feelings.
"Your Majesty must excuse her," the Red Queen said to
Alice, taking one of the White Queen's hands in her own,
and gently stroking it: "she means well, but she ca'n't
help saying foolish things as a general rule."
The White Queen looked timidly at Alice, who felt she
ought to say something kind, but really couldn't think of
anything at the moment.
"She never was really well brought up," the Red Queen
went on: "but it's amazing how good-tempered she is!
Pat her on the head, and see how pleased she'll be!" But
this was more than Alice had courage to do.
"A little kindness — and putting her hair in papers —
would do wonders with her "
QUEEN ALICE 257
The White Queen gave a deep sigh, and laid her head
on AUce's shoulder. "I am so sleepy!" she moaned.
"She's tired, poor thing!" said the Red Queen. "Smooth
her hair — lend her your nightcap — and sing her a sooth-
ing lullaby."
"I haven't got a nightcap with me/' said Alice, as she
> .
tried to obey the first direction: "and I don't know any
soothing lullabies."
"I must do it myself, then," said the Red Queen, and
she began: —
tt
Hush-a-by lady, in Alice's lap!
Till the feast's ready, we've time for a nap.
When the feast's over, we'll go to the ball —
Red Queen, and White Queen, and Alice, and all!
"And now you know the words," she added, as she put
her head down on Alice's other shoulder, "just sing it
through to me, I'm getting sleepy, too." In another mo-
ment both Queens were fast asleep, and snoring loud.
258 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"What am I to do?" exclaimed Alice, looking about in
great perplexity, as first one round head, and then the
other, rolled down from her shoulder, and lay like a heavy
lump in her lap. "I don't think it ever happened before,
that any one had to take care of two Queens asleep at
once! No, not in all the History of England — it couldn't,
you know, because there never was more than one Queen
at a time. Do wake up, you heavy things!" she went on in
an impatient tone; but there was no answer but a gentle
snoring.
The snoring got more distinct every minute, and sound-
ed more like a tune: at last she could even make out
words, and she listened so eagerly that, when the two
great heads suddenly vanished from her lap, she hardly
missed them.
She was standing before an arched doorway, over which
were the words "QUEEN ALICE" in large letters, and
on each side of the arch there was a bell-handle ; one was
marked "Visitors' Bell," and the other "Servants' Bell."
"I'll wait till the song's over," thought Alice, "and then
rU ring the — the — which bell must I ring?" she went on,
very much puzzled by the names. "I'm not a visitor, and
I'm not a servant. There ought to be one marked 'Queen,'
you know "
Just then the door opened a little way, and a creature
with a long beak put its head out for a moment and said
"No admittance till the week after next!" and shut the
door again with a bang.
Alice knocked and rang in vain for a long time; but at
last a very old Frog, who was sitting under a tree, got up
and hobbled slowly towards her : he was dressed in bright
yellow, and had enormous boots on.
"What is it, now?" the Frog said in a deep hoarse
whisper.
QUEEN ALICE 259
Alice turned round, ready to find fault with anybody.
"Where's the servant whose business it is to answer the
door?" she began angrily.
"Which door?" said the Frog.
Alice almost stamped with irritation at the slow drawl
in which he spoke. ''This door, of course!"
The Frog looked at the door with his large dull eyes
for a minute : then he went nearer and rubbed it with his
thumb, as if he were trying whether the paint would
come off: then he looked at Alice.
"To answer the door?" he said. "What's it been asking
26o THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
of?" He was so hoarse that AUce could scarcely hear him.
"I don't know what you mean," she said.
"I speaks English, doesn't I?" the Frog went on. "Or
are you deaf? What did it ask you?"
"Nothing!" Alice said impatiently. "I've been knock-
ing at it!"
"Shouldn't do that— shouldn't do that " the Frog
muttered. "Wexes it, you know." Then he went up and
gave the door a kick with one of his great feet. "You let it
alone," he panted out, as he hobbled back to his tree, "and
it'll let you alone, you know."
At this moment the door was flung open, and a shrill
voice was heard singing: —
"To the Loo\ing'Glass world it was Alice that said
Tve a sceptre in hand I've a crown on my head.
Let the LooJ{ing-Glass creatures, whatever they be
Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and
me!
And hundreds of voices joined in the chorus: —
"Then fill up the glasses as quic\ as you can.
And sprin\le the table with buttons and bran:
Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea —
And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-threeV*
Then followed a confused noise of cheering, and Alice
thought to herself "Thirty times three makes ninety. I
wonder if any one's counting?" In a minute there was si-
lence again, and the same shrill voice sang another
verse : —
a t
O Loo\ing-Glass creatures' quoth Alice, draw near!
'Tis an honour to see me, a favour to hear:
QUEEN ALICE 261
'Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea
Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and meV '"
The came the chorus again: —
''Then fill up the glasses with treacle and in\.
Or anything else that is pleasant to drinf{:
Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine —
And welcome Queen Alice with ninety -time s-nineV
"Ninety times nine!" AUce repeated in despair. "Oh,
that'll never be done! I'd better go in at once " and in
she went, and there was a dead silence the moment she
appeared.
Alice glanced nervously along the table, as she walked
up the large hall, and noticed that there were about fifty
guests, of all kinds: some were animals, some birds, and
there were even a few flowers among them. "I'm glad
they've come without waiting to be asked," she thought:
"I should never have known who were the right people
to invite!"
There were three chairs at the head of the table: the
Red and White Queens had already taken two of them,
but the middle one was empty. Alice sat down in it, rath-
er uncomfortable at the silence, and longing for some one
to speak.
At last the Red Queen began. "You've missed the soup
and fish," she said. "Put on the joint!" And the waiters
set a leg of mutton before Alice, who looked at it rather
anxiously, as she had never had to carve a joint before.
"You look a little shy : let me introduce you to that leg
of mutton," said the Red Queen. "Alice Mutton : Mut-
ton Alice." The leg of mutton got up in the dish and
made a little bow to Alice! and Alice returned the bow,
not knowing whether to be frightened or amused.
262 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
'May I give you a slice?" she said, taking up the knife
and fork, and looking from one Queen to the other.
"Certainly not," the Red Queen said very, decidedly: *'it
isn't etiquette to cut any one you've been introduced to.
Remove the joint!" And the waiters carried it off, and
brought a large plum-pudding in its place.
(C!
"I won't be introduced to the pudding, please," Alice
said rather hastily, "or we shall get no dinner at all. May
I give you some?"
But the Red Queen looked sulky, and growled "Pud-
ding Alice: Alice Pudding. Remove the pudding!"
and the waiters took it away so quickly that Alice couldn't
return its bow.
However, she didn't see why the Red Queen should
be the only one to give orders; so, as an experiment, she
called out "Waiter! Bring back the pudding!" and there it
QUEEN ALICE 263
was again in a moment, like a conjuring-trick. It was so
large that she couldn't help feeling a little shy with it, as
she had been with the mutton; however, she conquered
her shyness by a great effort, and cut a slice and handed
it to the Red Queen.
"What impertinence!" said the Pudding. "I wonder
how you'd like it, if I were to cut a slice out of you^ you
creature!"
It spoke in a thick, suety sort of voice, and Alice hadn't
a word to say in reply: she could only sit and look at it
and gasp.
"Make a remark," said the Red Queen: "it's ridiculous
to leave all the conversation to the pudding!"
"Do you know, I've had such a quantity of poetry re-
peated to me to-day," Alice began, a little frightened at
finding that, the moment she opened her lips, there was
dead silence, and all eyes were fixed upon her; "and it's a
very curious thing, I think — every poem was about fishes
in some way. Do you know why they're so fond of fishes,
all about here?"
She spoke to the Red Queen, whose answer was a little
wide of the mark. "As to fishes," she said, very slowly and
solemnly, putting her mouth close to Alice's ear, "her
White Majesty knows a lovely riddle — all in poetry — all
about fishes. Shall she repeat it?"
"Her Red Majesty's very kind to mention it," the White
Queen murmured into Alice's other ear, in a voice like
the cooing of a pigeon. "It would be such a treat! May I?"
"Please do," Alice said very politely.
The White Queen laughed with delight, and stroked
Alice's cheek. Then she began:
it t
'First, the fish must be caught!
That is easy: a baby, I thin\, could have caught it.
264 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
'Next, the fish must be bought'
That is easy: a penny, I thin\, would have bought it,
'Now coo\ me the fish!'
That is easy, and will not ta\e more than a minute.
'Let it lie in a dishV
That is easy, because it already is in it,
'Bring it herel Let me sup!'
It is easy to set such a dish on the table,
'Ta\e the dish-cover up!'
Ah, that is so hard that I fear I'm unable!
For it holds it li\e glue —
Holds the lid to the dish, while it lies in the middle:
Which is easiest to do,
Un-dish'Cover the fish, or dishcover the riddle?"
"Take a minute to think about it, and then guess/' said
the Red Queen. "Meanwhile, we'll drink your health —
Queen Alice's health!" she screamed at the top of her
voice, and all the guests began drinking it directly, and
very queerly they managed it: some of them put their
glasses upon their heads like extinguishers, and drank all
that trickled down their faces — others upset the decanters,
and drank the wine as it ran off the edges of the table —
and three of them (who looked like kangaroos) scram-
bled into the dish of roast mutton, and began eagerly lap-
ping up the gravy, "just like pigs in a trough!" thought
Alice.
"You ought to return thanks in a neat speech," the
Red Queen said, frowning at Alice as she spoke.
"We must support you, you know," the White Queen
whispered, as Alice got up to do it, very obediently, but a
little frightened.
"Thank you very much," she whispered in reply, "but I
can do quite well without."
QUEEN ALICE
265
"That wouldn't be at all
the thing," the Red Queen
said very decidedly: so
Alice tried to submit to it
with a good grace.
("And they did push
so!" she said afterwards,
when she was telling her
sister the history of the
feast. "You would have
thought they wanted to
squeeze me flat!")
In fact it was rather difficult for her to keep in her place
while she made her speech : the two Queens pushed her so,
one on each side, that they nearly lifted her up into the
266 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
air. "I rise to return thanks " Alice began: and she
really did rise as she spoke, several inches; but she got hold
of the edge of the table, and managed to pull herself down
again.
"Take care of yourself!" screamed the White Queen,
seizing Alice's hair with both her hands. "Something's
going to happen!'
And then (as Alice afterwards described it) all sorts of
things happened in a moment. The candles all grew up to
the ceiling, looking something like a bed of rushes with
fireworks at the top. As to the bottles, they each took a
pair of plates, which they hastily fitted on as wings, and
so, with forks for legs, went fluttering about in all direc-
tions: "and very like birds they look," Alice thought to
herself, as well as she could in the dreadful confusion that
was beginning.
At this moment she heard a hoarse laugh at her side,
and turned to see what was the matter with the White
Queen; but, instead of the Queen, there was the leg of
mutton sitting in the chair. "Here I am!" cried a voice
from the soup-tureen, and Alice turned again, just in time
to see the Queen's broad good-natured face grinning at
her for a moment over the edge of the tureen, before she
disappeared into the soup.
There was not a moment to be lost. Already several of
the guests were lying down in the dishes, and the soup-
ladle was walking up the table towards Alice's chair, and
beckoning to her impatiently to get out of its way.
"I ca'n't stand this any longer!" she cried, as she jumped
up and seized the tablecloth with both hands: one good
pull, and plates, dishes, guests, and candles came crashing
down together in a heap on the floor.
"And as for yoUy' she went on, turning fiercely upon
the Red Queen, whom she considered as the cause of all
QUEEN ALICE 267
the mischief — but the Queen was no longer at her side —
she had suddenly dwindled down to the size of a little
doll, and was now on the table, merrily running round
and round after her own shawl, which was trailing be-
hind her.
At any other time, Alice would have felt surprised at
this, but she was far too much excited to be surprised at
anything now, "As for you^' she repeated, catching hold
of the little creature in the very act of jumping over a bot-
tle which had just lighted upon the table, "I'll shake you
into a kitten, that I will!"
Chapter X
. Shaking
She took her off the table as she spoke, and shook her
backwards and forwards with all her might.
The Red Queen made no resistance whatever : only her
face grew very small, and her eyes got large and green:
and still, as Alice went on shaking her, she kept on
growing shorter — and fatter — and softer — and rounder —
and
Chapter XI
Waking
-and it really was a kitten, after all.
>.68
Chapter XII
Which Dreamed It ?
"Your Red Majesty shouldn't purr so loud/' Alice said,
rubbing her eyes, and addressing the kitten, respectfully,
yet with some severity. "You woke me out of oh! such a
nice dream! And you've been along with me, Kitty —
all through the Looking-glass world. Did you know it,
dear?"
It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had
once made the remark) that, whatever you say to them,
they always purr. "If they would only purr for 'yes,' and
mew for *no,' or any rule of that sort," she had said, "so
that one could keep up a conversation! But how can you
talk with a person if they always say the same thing?"
On this occasion the kitten only purred : and it was im-
possible to guess whether it meant "yes" or "no."
So Alice hunted among the chessmen on the table till
she had found the Red Queen : then she went down on her
knees on the hearth-rug, and put the kitten and the Queen
to look at each other. "Now, Kitty!" she cried, clapping
her hands triumphantly. "Confess that was what you
turned into!"
("But it wouldn't look at it," she said, when she was
explaining the thing afterwards to her sister: "it turned
away its head, and pretended not to see it : but it looked a
little ashamed of itself, so I think it must have been the
Red Queen.")
"Sit up a little more stiffly, dear!" Alice cried with a
merry laugh. "And curtsey while you're thinking what
to — what to purr. It saves time, remember!" And she
caught it up and gave it one little kiss, "just in honor of
its having been a Red Queen."
269
270 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
"Snowdrop, my pet!" she went on, looking over her
shoulder at the White Kitten, which was still patiently
undergoing its toilet, "when will Dinah have finished
with your White Majesty, I wonder? That must be the
reason you were so untidy in my dream. Dinah! Do
you know that you're scrubbing a White Queen ? Really,
it's most disrespectful of you!
"And what did Dinah turn to, I wonder?" she prattled
on, as she settled comfortably down, with one elbow on
the rug, and her chin in her hand, to watch the kittens.
"Tell me, Dinah, did you turn to Humpty Dumpty? I
thin\ you did — however, you'd better not mention it to
your friends just yet, for I'm not sure.
"By the way, Kitty, if only you'd been really with me in
my dream, there was one thing you would have enjoyed
WHICH DREAMED IT? 27I
1 had such a quantity of poetry said to me, all about
fishes! To-morrow morning you shall have a real treat.
All the time you're eating your breakfast, FU repeat 'The
Walrus and the Carpenter' to you; and then you can
make believe it's oysters, dear!
"Now, Kitty, let's consider who it was that dreamed it
all. This is a serious question, my dear, and you should
not go on licking your paw like that — as if Dinah hadn't
washed you this morning! You see, Kitty, it must have
been either me or the Red King. He was part of my
dream, of course — but then I was part of his dream, too!
Was it the Red King, Kitty ? You were his wife, my dear,
so you ought to know Oh, Kitty, do help to settle it!
I'm sure your paw can wait!" But the provoking kitten
only began on the other paw, and pretended it hadn't
heard the question.
Which do you think it was?
A BOAT, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear —
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise.
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear.
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie.
Dreaming as the days go by.
Dreaming as the summers die :
Ever drifting down the stream —
Lingering in the golden gleam —
Life, what is it but a dream?
Editor's note: The initial letters of this poem
when read downward give the full name of
the original Alice — Alice Pleasance Liddell.
272
A»»»»»»»»»»»»»««««««««««««« A
A A
A A
A A
A A
* ft
ft ft
ft ft
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Is all our Life, then, but a dream
Seen faintly in the golden gleam
Athwart Time's dark resistless stream?
Bowed to the earth with bitter woe.
Or laughing at some raree-show.
We flutter idly to and fro.
Man's little Day in haste we spend.
And, from its merry noontide, send
No glance to meet the silent end.
275
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PREFACE
The descriptions, at pp. 498, 499, of Sunday as spent by
children o£ the last generation, are quoted verbatim from
a speech made to me by a child-friend and a letter writ-
ten to me by a lady-friend.
The Chapters, headed "Fairy Sylvie" and "Bruno's Re-
venge," are a reprint, with a few alterations, of a little
fairy-tale which I wrote in the year 1867, at the request of
the late Mrs. Gatty, for "Aunt Judy's Magazine," which
she was then editing.
It was in 1874, I believe, that the idea first occurred to
me of making it the nucleus of a longer story. As the years
went on, I jotted down, at odd moments, all sorts of odd
ideas, and fragments of dialogue, that occurred to me —
who knows how? — with a transitory suddenness that left
me no choice but either to record them then and there, or
to abandon them to oblivion. Sometimes one could trace
to their source these random flashes of thought — as being
suggested by the book one was reading, or struck out
from the "flint" of one's own mind by the "steel" of a
friend's chance remark — but they had also a way of their
own, of occurring, a propos of nothing — specimens of that
hopelessly illogical phenomenon, "an eflfect without a
cause." Such, for example, was the last line of "The Hunt-
ing of the Snark," which came into my head (as I have al-
ready related in "The Theatre" for April, 1887) quite sud-
denly, during a solitary walk ; and such, again, have been
passages which occurred in dreams^ and which I cannot
277
278 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
trace to any antecedent cause whatever. There are at least
two instances of such dream-suggestions in this book —
one, my Lady's remark, "it often runs in famiUes, just as a
love for pastry does", at p. 333; the other, Eric Lindon's
badinage about having been in domestic service, at p. 468.
And thus it came to pass that I found myself at last in
possession of a huge unwieldy mass of litterature — if the
reader will kindly excuse the spelling — which only needed
stringing together, upon the thread of a consecutive story,
to constitute the book I hoped to write. Only! The task,
at first, seemed absolutely hopeless, and gave me a far
clearer idea, than I ever had before, of the meaning of the
word "chaos" : and I think it must have been ten years, or
more, before I had succeeded in classifying these odds-
and-ends sufficiently to see what sort of a story they indi-
cated : for the story had to grow out of the incidents, not
the incidents out of the story.
I am telling all this, in no spirit of egoism, but because I
really believe that some of my readers will be interested in
these details of the "genesis" of a book, which looks so
simple and straight-forward a matter, when completed,
that they might suppose it to have been written straight
off, page by page, as one would write a letter, beginning
at the beginning and ending at the end.
It is, no doubt, possible to write a story in that way: and,
if it be not vanity to say so, I believe that I could, myself,
— if I were in the unfortunate position (for I do hold it to
be a real misfortune) of being obliged to produce a given
amount of fiction in a given time that I could "fulfil my
task," and produce my "tale of bricks," as other slaves have
done. One thing, at any rate I could guarantee as to the
story so produced — that it should be utterly commonplace,
should contain no new ideas whatever, and should be
very very weary reading!
PREFACE 279
This species of literature has received the very appro-
priate name of "padding" — which might fitly be defined
as "that which all can write and none can read." That the
present volume contains no such writing I dare not avow:
sometimes, in order to bring a picture into its proper place,
it has been necessary to eke out a page with two or three
extra lines: but I can honestly say I have put in no more
than I was absolutely compelled to do.
My readers may perhaps like to amuse themselves by
trying to detect, in a given passage, the one piece of "pad-
ding" it contains. While arranging the "slips" into pages, I
found that the passage, which now extends from the bot-
tom of p. 304 to the top of p. 307, was 3 lines too short. I
supplied the deficiency, not by interpolating a word here
and a word there, but by writing in 3 consecutive lines*
Now can my readers guess which they are ?
A harder puzzle — if a harder be desired — would be to
determine, as to the Gardener's Song, in which cases (if
any) the stanza was adapted to the surrounding text, and
in which (if any) the text was adapted to the stanza.
Perhaps the hardest thing in all literature — at least /
have found it so : by no voluntary effort can I accomplish
it: I have to take it as it comes — is to write anything
original. And perhaps the easiest is, when once an orig-
inal line has been struck out, to follow it up, and to write
any amount more to the same tune. I do not know i£
"Alice in Wonderland" was an original story — I was, at
least, no conscious imitator in writing it — but I do know
that, since it came out, something like a dozen story-books
have appeared, on identically the same pattern. The path
I timidly explored — believing myself to be "the first that
ever burst into that silent sea" — is now a beaten high-
road: all the way-side flowers have long ago been tram-
280 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
pled into the dust: and it would be courting disaster for
me to attempt that style again.
Hence it is that, in "Sylvie and Bruno," I have striven —
with I know not what success — to strike out yet another
new path: be it bad or good, it is the best I can do. It is
written, not for money, and not for fame, but in the hope
of supplying, for the children whom I love, some thoughts
that may suit those hours of innocent merriment which
ire the very life of Childhood; and also, in the hope of
suggesting, to them and to others, some thoughts that may
prove, I would fain hope, not wholly out of harmony with
the graver cadences of Life.
If I have not already exhausted the patience of my read-
ers, I would like to seize this opportunity — perhaps the
last I shall have of addressing so many friends at once —
c f putting on record some ideas that have occurred to me,
a^ to books desirable to be written — which I should much
like to attempt^ but may not ever have the time or power
to carry through — in the hope that, if / should fail (and
the years are gliding away very fast) to finish the task I
have set myself, other hands may take it up.
First, a Child's Bible. The only real essentials of this
would be, carefully selected passages, suitable for a child's
reading, and pictures. One principle of selection, which I
would adopt, would be that Religion should be put before
a child as a revelation of love — no need to pain and puzzle
the young mind with the history of crime and punish-
ment. (On such a principle I should, for example, omit
the history of the Flood.) The supplying of the pictures
would involve no great difficulty : no new ones would be
needed: hundreds of excellent pictures already exist, the
copyright of which has long ago expired, and which sim-
ply need photo-zincography, or some similar process, for
PREFACE 281
their successful reproduction. The book should be handy
in size — with a pretty attractive-looking cover — in a clear
legible type — and, above all, w^ith abundance of pictures,
pictures, pictures!
Secondly, a book of pieces selected from the Bible — not
single texts, but passages of from 10 to 20 verses each — to
be committed to memory. Such passages would be found
useful, to repeat to one's-self and to ponder over, on many
occasions when reading is difficult, if not impossible: for
instance, when lying awake at night — on a railway-
journey — when taking a solitary walk — in old age, when
eye-sight is failing or wholly lost — and, best of all, when
illness, while incapacitating us for reading or any other
occupation, condemns us to lie awake through many
weary silent hours: at such a time how keenly one may
realise the truth of David's rapturous cry ''O how sweet
are thy words unto my throat: yea, sweeter than honey
unto my mouths'
I have said "passages," rather than single texts, because
we have no means of recalling single texts : memory needs
lin\s^ and here are none: one may have a hundred texts
stored in the memory, and not be able to recall, at will,
more than half-a-dozen — and those by mere chance:
whereas, once get hold of any portion of a chapter that has
been committed to memory, and the whole can be re-
covered: all hangs together.
Thirdly, a collection of passages, both prose and verse,
from books other than the Bible. There is not perhaps
much, in what is called "un-inspired" literature (a mis-
nomer, I hold: if Shakespeare was not inspired, one may
well doubt if any man ever was), that will bear the pro-
cess of being pondered over, a hundred times: still there
are such passages — enough, I think, to make a goodly
store for the memory.
282 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
These two books — o£ sacred, and secular, passages for
memory — will serve other good purposes besides merely
occupying vacant hours: they will help to keep at bay
many anxious thoughts, worrying thoughts, uncharitable
thoughts, unholy thoughts. Let me say this, in better
words than my own, by copying a passage from that most
interesting book, Robertson's Lectures on the Epistles to
the Corinthians, Lecture xlix. "If a man finds himself
haunted by evil desires and unholy images, which will
generally be at periodical hours, let him commit to mem-
ory passages of Scripture, or passages from the best writ-
ers in verse or prose. Let him store his mind with these, as
safeguards to repeat when he lies awake in some restless
night, or when despairing imaginations, or gloomy, sui-
cidal thoughts, beset him. Let these be to him the sword,
turning everywhere to keep the way of the Garden of Life
from the intrusion of profaner footsteps."
Fourthly, a "Shakespeare" for girls: that is, an edition
in which everything, not suitable for the perusal of girls
of (say) from 10 to 17, should be omitted. Few children
under 10 would be likely to understand or enjoy the great-
est of poets : and those, who have passed out of girlhood,
may safely be left to read Shakespeare, in any edition,
"expurgated" or not, that they may prefer; but it seems a
pity that so many children, in the intermediate stage,
should be debarred from a great pleasure for want of an
edition suitable to them. Neither Bowdler's, Chambers's,
Brandram's, nor Cundell's "Boudoir" Shakespeare, seems
to me to meet the want: they are not sufficiently "expur-
gated." Bowdler's is the most extraordinary of all : looking
through it, I am filled with a deep sense of wonder, con-
sidering what he has left in, that he should have cut any-
thing out! Besides relentlessly erasing all that is unsuit-
able on the score of reverence or decency, I should be in-
PREFACE 283
clined to omit also all that seems too difficult, or not likely
to interest young readers. The resulting book might be
slightly fragmentary : but it would be a real treasure to all
British maidens who have any taste for poetry.
If it be needful to apologize to any one for the new de-
parture I have taken in this story — by introducing, along
with what will, I hope, prove to be acceptable nonsense
for children, some of the graver thoughts of human life —
it must be to one who has learned the Art of keeping such
thoughts wholly at a distance in hours of mirth and care-
less ease. To him such a mixture will seem, no doubt, ill-
judged and repulsive. And that such an Art exists I do not
dispute : with youth, good health, and sufficient money, it
seems quite possible to lead, for years together, a life of
unmixed gaiety — with the exception of one solemn fact,
with which we are liable to be confronted at any moment,
even in the midst of the most brilliant company or the
most sparkling entertainment. A man may fix his own
times for admitting serious thought, for attending public
worship, for prayer, for reading the Bible: all such mat-
ters he can defer to that "convenient season," which is so
apt never to occur at all: but he cannot defer, for one
single moment, the necessity of attending to a message,
which may come before he has finished reading this page,
''this night shall thy soul he required of thee!'
The ever-present sense of this grim possibility has been,
in all ages,-^ an incubus that men have striven to shake off.
Few more interesting subjects of enquiry could be found,
by a student of history, than the various weapons that
have been used against this shadowy foe. Saddest of all
must have been the thoughts of those who saw indeed an
At the moment, when I had written these words, there was a
knock at the door, and a telegram was brought me, announcing the
sudden death of a dear friend.
284 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
existence beyond the grave, but an existence far more ter-
rible than annihilation — an existence as filmy, impalpable,
all but invisible spectres, drifting about, through endless
ages, in a world of shadows, with nothing to do, nothing
to hope for, nothing to love! In the midst of the gay verses
of that genial "bon vivant" Horace, there stands one
dreary word whose utter sadness goes to one's heart. It is
the word ''exilium' in the well-known passage
Omnes eodem cogitnur, omnium
Versatur urnd serius ocius
Sors exitura et nos in ceternum
Exilium impositura cymbce.
Yes, to him this present life — spite of all its weariness
and all its sorrow — v/as the only life worth having : all else
was "exile"! Does it not seem almost incredible that one,
holding such a creed, should ever have smiled?
And many in this day, I fear, even though believing in
an existence beyond the grave far more real than Horace
ever dreamed of, yet regard it as a sort of "exile" from all
the joys of life, and so adopt Horace's theory, and say "let
us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
We go to entertainments, such as the theatre — I say
"we", for / also go to the play, whenever I get a chance of
seeing a really good one — and keep at arm's length, if pos-
sible, the thought that we may not return alive. Yet how
do you know — dear friend, whose patience has carried
you through this garrulous preface — that it may not be
your lot, when mirth is fastest and most furious, to feel
the sharp pang, or the deadly faintness, which heralds the
final crisis — to see, with vague wonder, anxious friends
bending over you — to hear their troubled whispers — per-
haps yourself to shape the question, with trembling lips,
"Is it serious?", and to be told "Yes: the end is near" (and
PREFACE 285
oh, how different all Life will look when those words are
said!) — how do you know, I say, that all this may not
happen to you, this night?
And dare you, knowing this, say to yourself "Well, per-
haps it is an immoral play: perhaps the situations are a
little too Visky', the dialogue a little too strong, the 'busi-
ness' a little too suggestive. I don't say that conscience is
quite easy: but the piece is so clever, I must see it this
once! I'll begin a stricter life to-morrow." To-morrow,
and to-morrow , and to-morrow!
^'Who sins in hope, who, sinning, says,
'Sorrow for sin God's judgement stays!'
Against God's Spirit he lies; quite stops
Mercy with insult; dares, and drops,
Li\e a scorch' d fly, that spins in vain
Upon the axis of its pain.
Then ta\es its doom, to limp and crawl,
Blind and forgot, from fall to fall."
Let me pause for a moment to say that I believe this
thought, of the possibility of death — if calmly realised, and
steadily faced — would be one of the best possible tests as to
our going to any scene of amusement being right or
wrong. If the thought of sudden death acquires, for you,
a special horror when imagined as happening in a theatre,
then be very sure the theatre is harmful for you, however
harmless it may be for others; and that you are incurring
a deadly peril in going. Be sure the safest rule is that we
should not dare to live in any scene in which we dare not
die.
But, once realise what the true object is in life — that it
is not pleasure, not knowledge, not even fame itself, "that
last infirmity of noble minds" — but that it is the develop-
ment of character, the rising to a higher, nobler, purer
286 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Standard, the building-up of the perfect Man — and then,
so long as we feel that this is going on, and will (we trust)
go on for evermore, death has for us no terror ; it is not a
shadow, but a light; not an end, but a beginning!
One other matter may perhaps seem to call for apology
— that I should have treated with such entire want of sym-
pathy the British passion for "Sport", which no doubt has
been in by-gone days, and is still, in some forms of it, an
excellent school for hardihood and for coolness in mo-
ments of danger. But I am not entirely without sympathy
for genuine "Sport": I can heartily admire the courage of
the man who, with severe bodily toil, and at the risk of
his life, hunts down some "man-eating" tiger: and I can
heartily sympathize with him when he exults in the glo-
rious excitement of the chase and the hand-to-hand strug-
gle with the monster brought to bay. But I can but look
with deep wonder and sorrow on the hunter who, at his
ease and in safety, can find pleasure in what involves, for
some defenceless creature, wild terror and a death of
agony : deeper, if the hunter be one who has pledged him-
self to preach to men the Religion of universal Love : deep-
est of all, if it be one of those ''tender and delicate' beings,
whose very name serves as a symbol of Love — ''thy love to
me was wonderful, passing the love of women" — whose
mission here is surely to help and comfort all that are in
pain or sorrow!
"Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all,''
»»»»»»»>»»»»»»«<««««««««««««
Chapter I
Less Bread! More Taxes!
— AND then all the people cheered again, and one man,
who was more excited than the rest, flung his hat high in-
to the air, and shouted (as well as I could make out)
"Who roar for the Sub-Warden?" Everybody roared, but
whether it was for the Sub-Warden, or not, did not clearly
appear: some were shouting "Bread!" and some "Taxes!",
but no one seemed to know what it was they really want-
ed.
All this I saw from the open window of the Warden's
breakfast-saloon, looking across the shoulder of the Lord
Chancellor, who had sprung to his feet the moment the
shouting began, almost as if he had been expecting it, and
had rushed to the window which commanded the best
view of the market-place.
"What can it all mean?" he kept repeating to himself,
as, with his hands clasped behind him, and his gown float-
ing in the air, he paced rapidly up and down the room. "I
never heard such shouting before — and at this time of the
morning, too! And with such unanimity! Doesn't it strike
you as very remarkable?"
I represented, modestly, that to my ears it appeared that
they were shouting for diflferent things, but the Chancel-
lor would not listen to my suggestion for a moment.
"They all shout the same words, I assure you!" he said:
then, leaning well out of the window, he whispered to a
man who was standing close underneath, "Keep 'em to-
gether, ca'n't you? The Warden will be here directly. Give
287
288 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
'em the signal for the march up!" All this was evidently
not meant for my ears, but I could scarcely help hearing
it, considering that my chin was almost on the Chancel-
lor's shoulder.
The "march up" was a very curious sight: a straggling
procession of men, marching two and two, began from
the other side of the market-place, and advanced in an ir-
regular zig-zag fashion towards the Palace, wildly tacking
from side to side, like a sailing vessel making way against
an unfavourable wind — so that the head of the procession
was often further from us at the end of one tack than it
had been at the end of the previous one.
Yet it was evident that all was being done under orders,
for I noticed that all eyes were fixed on the man who stood
just under the window, and to whom the Chancellor was
continually whispering. This man held his hat in one
hand and a little green flag in the other: whenever he
waved the flag the procession advanced a little nearer^
when he dipped it they sidled a little farther off, and
whenever he waved his hat they all raised a hoarse cheer.
"Hoo-roah!" they cried, carefully keeping time with the
hat as it bobbed up and down. "Hoo-roah! Noo! Consti!
Tooshun! Less! Bread! More! Taxes!"
"That'll do, that'll do!" the Chancellor whispered. "Let
'em rest a bit till I give you the word. He's not here yet!"
But at this moment the great folding-doors of the saloon
were flung open, and he turned with a guilty start to re-
ceive His High Excellency. However it was only Bruno,
and the Chancellor gave a little gasp of relieved anxiety.
"Morning!" said the little fellow, addressing the re-
mark, in a general sort of way, to the Chancellor and the
waiters. "Doos oo know where Sylvie is? I's looking for
Sylvie!"
"She's with the Warden, I believe, y'reince!" the Chan-
LESS bread! more taxes! 289
cellor replied with a low bow. There was, no doubt, a cer-
tain amount o£ absurdity in applying this title (which, as
of course you see without my telling you, was nothing but
*'your Royal Highness" condensed into one syllable) to a
small creature whose father was merely the Warden of
Outland : still, large excuse must be made for a man who
had passed several years at the Court of Fairyland, and
had there acquired the almost impossible art of pronounc-
ing five syllables as one.
But the bow was lost upon Bruno, who had run out of
the room, even while the great feat of The Unpronounce-
able Monosyllable was being triumphantly performed.
Just then, a single voice in the distance was understood
to shout "A speech from the Chancellor!" "Certainly, my
friends!" the Chancellor replied with extraordinary
promptitude. ''You shall have a speech!" Here one of the
waiters, who had been for some minutes busy making a
queer-looking mixture of egg and sherry, respectfully pre-
sented it on a large silver salver. The Chancellor took it
haughtily, drank it off thoughtfully, smiled benevolently
on the happy waiter as he set down the empty glass, and
began. To the best of my recollection this is what he said.
"Ahem! Ahem! Ahem! Fellow-sufferers, or rather suf-
fering fellows " ("Don't call 'em names!" muttered the
man under the window. "I didn't say felons!'' the Chan-
cellor explained.) "You may be sure that I always sym-
pa " ("'Ear, 'ear!" shouted the crowd, so loudly as
quite to drown the orator's thin squeaky voice) " — that I
always sympa " he repeated. ("Don't simper quite so
much!" said the man under the window. "It makes yer
look a hidiot!" And, all this time, " 'Ear, 'ear!" went rum-
bling round the market-place, like a peal of thunder.)
"That I always sympathiser yelled the Chancellor, the first
moment there was silence. "But your true friend is the Sub-
290 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Warden! Day and night he is brooding on your wrongs —
I should say your rights — that is to say your wrongs — no,
I mean your rights " ("Don't talk no more!" growled
the man under the window. "You're making a mess o£
it!") At this moment the Sub-Warden entered the saloon.
He was a thin man, with a mean and crafty face, and a
greenish-yellow complexion; and he crossed the room
very slowly, looking suspiciously about him as if he
thought there might be a savage dog hidden somewhere.
"Bravo!" he cried, patting the Chancellor on the back.
"You did that speech very well indeed. Why, you're a
born orator, man!"
"Oh, that's nothing!" the Chancellor replied, modestly,
with downcast eyes. "Most orators are born, you know."
The Sub-Warden thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "Why,
so they are!" he admitted. "I never considered it in that
light. Still, you did it very well. A word in your ear!"
The rest of their conversation was all in whispers : so, as
I could hear no more, I thought I would go and find
Bruno.
I found the little fellow standing in the passage, and be-
ing addressed by one of the men in livery, who stood be-
fore him, nearly bent double from extreme respectfulness,
with his hands hanging in front of him like the fins of a
fish. "His High Excellency," this respectful man was say-
ing, "is in his Study, y'reince!" (He didn't pronounce this
quite so well as the Chancellor.) Thither Bruno trotted,
and I thought it well to follow him.
The Warden, a tall dignified man with a grave but very
pleasant face, was seated before a writing-table, which was
covered with papers, and holding on his knee one of the
sweetest and loveliest little maidens it has ever been my lot
to see. She looked four or five years older than Bruno, but
she had the same rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, and the
LESS BREAD! MORE TAXES! 29I
same wealth of curly brown hair. Her eager smiling face
was turned upwards towards her father's, and it was a
pretty sight to see the mutual love with which the two
faces — one in the Spring of Life, the other in its late Au-
tumn— were gazing on each other.
"No, you've never seen him," the old man was saying:
"you couldn't, you know, he's been away so long — travel-
ing from land to land, and seeking for health, more years
than you've been alive, little Sylvie!"
Here Bruno climbed upon his other knee, and a good
deal of kissing, on a rather complicated system, was the
result.
"He only came back last night," said the Warden, when
the kissing was over: "he's been traveling post-haste, for
the last thousand miles or so, in order to be here on Syl-
vie's birthday. But he's a very early riser, and I dare say
he's in the Library already. Come with me and see him.
He's always kind to children. You'll be sure to like him."
"Has the Other Professor come too?" Bruno asked in
an awe-struck voice.
"Yes, they arrived together. The Other Professor is —
well, you won't like him quite so much, perhaps. He's a
little more dreamy, you know."
"I wiss Sylvie was a little more dreamy," said Bruno.
"What do you mean, Bruno?" said Sly vie.
Bruno went on addressing his father. "She says she
cant, 00 know. But I thinks it isn't cant, it's wont!'
"Says she cant dream!" the puzzled Warden repeated.
"She do say it," Bruno persisted. "When I says to her
*Let's stop lessons!', she says 'Oh, I ca'n't dream of letting
00 stop yet!' "
"He always wants to stop lessons," Sylvie explained,
"five minutes after we begin!"
292 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Five minutes' lessons a day!" said the Warden. "Yon
won't learn much at that rate, little man!"
"That's just what Sylvie says," Bruno rejoined. "She
says I wont learn my lessons. And I tells her, over and
over, I cant learn 'em. And what doos 00 think she says?
She says *It isn't cant, it's wontl' "
"Let's go and see the Professor," the Warden said, wise-
ly avoiding further discussion. The children got down oflf
his knees, each secured a hand, and the happy trio set off
for the Library — followed by me. I had come to the con-
clusion by this time that none of the party (except, for a
few moments, the Lord Chancellor) was in the least able
to see me.
"What's the matter with him?" Sylvie asked, walking
with a little extra sedateness, by way of example to Bruno
at the other side, who never ceased jumping up and down.
"What was the matter — but I hope he's all right now —
was lumbago, and rheumatism, and that kind of thing.
He's been curing himself, you know: he's a very learned
doctor. Why, he's actually invented three new diseases, be-
sides a new way of breaking your collar-bone!"
"Is it a nice way?" said Bruno.
"Well, hum, not very," the Warden said, as we entered
the Library. "And here is the Professor. Good morning,
Professor! Hope you're quite rested after your journey!"
A jolly-looking, fat little man, in a flowery dressing-
gown, with a large book under each arm, came trotting in
at the other end of the room, and was going straight
across without taking any notice of the children. "I'm
looking for Vol. Three," he said. "Do you happen to have
seen itr
"You don't see my children. Professor!" the Warden ex-
claimed, taking him by the shoulders and turning him
round to face them.
LESS bread! more taxes! 293
The Professor laughed violently : then he gazed at them
through his great spectacles, for a minute or two, without
speaking.
At last he addressed Bruno. "I hope you have had a
good night, my child?"
Bruno looked puzzled. "Fs had the same night 00 ve
had," he replied. "There's only been one night since yes-
terday!"
It was the Professor's turn to look puzzled now. He
took off his spectacles, and rubbed them with his handker-
chief. Then he gazed at them again. Then he turned to
the Warden. "Are they bound?" he enquired.
"No, we aren't," said Bruno, who thought himself quite
able to answer this question.
The Professor shook his head sadly. "Not even half-
bound?"
"Why would we be half-bound?" said Bruno. "We're
not prisoners!"
But the Professor had forgotten all about them by this
time, and was speaking to the Warden again. "You'll be
glad to hear," he was saying, "that the Barometer's begin-
ning to move "
"Well, which way?" said the Warden — adding to the
children, "Not that / care, you know. Only he thinks it
affects the weather. He's a wonderfully clever man, you
know. Sometimes he says things that only the Other Pro-
fessor can understand. Sometimes he says things that no-
body can understand! Which way is it. Professor? Up or
down?"
"Neither!" said the Professor, gently clapping his hands.
"It's going sideways — if I may so express myself."
"And what kind of weather does that produce?" said
the Warden. "Listen children! Now you'll hear some-
thing worth knowing!"
294 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Horizontal weather," said the Professor, and made
straight for the door, very nearly trampling on Bruno,
who had only just time to get out of his way.
''Isn't he learned?" the Warden said, looking after him
with admiring eyes. "Positively he runs over with learn-
ing!
"But he needn't run over mer said Bruno.
The Professor was back in a moment : he had changed
his dressing-gown for a frock-coat, and had put on a pair
of very strange-looking boots, the tops of which were open
umbrellas. "I thought you'd like to see them," he said.
''These are the boots for horizontal weather!"
"But what's the use of wearing umbrellas round one's
knees?"
"In ordinary rain," the Professor admitted, "they would
not be of much use. But if ever it rained horizontally, you
know, they would be invaluable — simply invaluable!"
"Take the Professor to the breakfast-saloon, children,"
said the Warden. "And tell them not to wait for me. I had
breakfast early, as I've some business to attend to." The
children seized the Professor's hands, as familiarly as if
they had known him for years, and hurried him away. I
followed respectfully behind.
Chapter II
L'Amie Inconnue
As we entered the breakfast saloon, the Professor was say-
ing " — and he had breakfast by himself, early: so he beg-
ged you wouldn't wait for him, my Lady. This way, my
Lady," he added, "this way!" And then, with (as it seem-
l'amie inconnue 295
ed to me) most superfluous politeness, he flung open the
door of my compartment, and ushered in " — a young and
lovely lady!" I muttered to myself with some bitterness.
"And this is, of course, the opening scene of Vol. I. She is
the Heroine. And / am one of those subordinate charac-
ters that only turn up when needed for the development
of her destiny, and whose final appearance is outside the
church, waiting to greet the Happy Pair!"
"Yes, my lady, change at Fayfield," were the next words
I heard (oh that too obsequious Guard!), "next station
but one." And the door closed, and the lady settled down
into her corner, and the monotonous throb of the engine
(making one feel as if the train were some gigantic mon-
ster, whose very circulation we could feel) proclaimed
that we were once more speeding on our way. "The lady
had a perfectly formed nose," I caught myself saying to
myself, "hazel eyes, and lips " and here it occurred to
me that to see, for myself, what "the lady" was really like,
would be more satisfactory than much speculation.
I looked round cautiously, and — was entirely disap-
pointed of my hope. The veil, which shrouded her whole
face, was too thick for me to see more than the glitter of
bright eyes and the hazy outline of what might be a love-
ly oval face, but might also, unfortunately, be an equally
MtiXovtly one. I closed my eyes again, saying to myself
" — couldn't have a better chance for an experiment in
Telepathy! Ill thin\ out her face, and afterwards test the
portrait with the original."
At first, no result at all crowned my eflforts, though I
"divided my swift mind," now hither, now thither, in a
way that I felt sure would have made iEneas green with
envy: but the dimly-seen oval remained as provokingly
blank as ever — a mere Ellipse, as if in some mathematical
diagram, without even the Foci that might be made to do
296 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
duty as a nose and a mouth. Gradually, however, the con-
viction came upon me that I could, by a certain concentra-
tion of thought, thin\ the veil away, and so get a glimpse
of the mysterious face — as to which the two questions, "is
she pretty?" and "is she plain?", still hung suspended, in
my mind, in beautiful equipoise.
Success was partial — and fitful — still there was a result :
ever and anon, the veil seemed to vanish, in a sudden flash
of light : but, before I could fully realise the face, all was
dark again. In each such glimpse, the face seemed to grow
more childish and more innocent : and, when I had at last
thought the veil entirely away, it was, unmistakeably, the
sweet face of little Sylvie!
"So, either I've been dreaming about Sylvie," I said to
myself, "and this is the reality. Or else Fve really been
with Sylvie, and this is a dream! Is Life itself a dream, I
wonder?"
To occupy the time, I got out the letter which had
caused me to take this sudden railway-journey from my
London home down to a strange fishing-town on the
North coast, and read it over again : —
"Dear old Friend,
''Vm sure it will be as great a pleasure to me, as it can
possibly be to you, to meet once more after so many years:
and of course I shall be ready to give you all the benefit of
such medical sJ{ill as I have: only, you /{now, one mustn't
violate professional etiquette! And you are already in the
hands of a first-rate London doctor, with whom it would be
utter affectation for me to pretend to compete, (/ ma\e no
doubt he is right in saying the heart is affected: all your
symptoms point that way.) One thing, at any rate, I have al-
ready done in my doctorial capacity — secured you a bedroom
on the ground'fioor , so that you will not need to ascend the
stairs at all.
*'l shall expect you by last train on Friday, in accordance
L AMIE INCONNUE 297
with your letter: and, till then, I shall say, in the words of
the old song, 'Oh for Friday nichtl Friday's lang a-comingl'
"Yours always,
"Arthui^ jForester.
"P.iS. Do you believe in Fate?"
This Postscript puzzled me sorely. "He Is far too sens-
ible a man/' I thought, "to have become a Fatalist. And
yet what else can he mean by it?" And, as I folded up the
letter and put it away, I inadvertently repeated the words
aloud. "Do you believe in Fate?"
The fair "Incognita" turned her head quickly at the
sudden question. "No, I don't!" she said with a smile. "Do
your
"I — I didn't mean to ask the question!" I stammered, a
little taken aback at having begun a conversation in so un-
conventional a fashion.
The lady's smile became a laugh — not a mocking laugh,
but the laugh of a happy child who is perfectly at her ease.
"Didn't you?" she said. "Then it was a case of what you
Doctors call 'unconscious cerebration'?"
"I am no Doctor," I replied. "Do I look so like one? Or
what makes you think it?"
She pointed to the book I had been reading, which was
so lying that its title, "Diseases of the Heart," was plainly
visible.
"One needn't be a Doctor^' I said, "to take an interest in
medical books. There's another class of readers, who are
yet more deeply interested "
"You mean the Patients?'' she interrupted, while a look
of tender pity gave new sweetness to her face. "But," with
an evident wish to avoid a possibly painful topic, "one
needn't be either, to take an interest in books of Science,
Which contain the greatest amount of Science, do you
think, the books, or the minds?"
298 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Rather a profound question for a lady!" I said to my-
self, holding, with the conceit so natural to Man, that Wo-
man's intellect is essentially shallow. And I considered a
minute before replying. "If you mean living minds, I
don't think it's possible to decide. There is so much writ-
ten Science that no living person has ever read: and there
is so much thought-out Science that hasn't yet been writ-
ten. But, if you mean the whole human race, then I think
the minds have it: everything, recorded in boo\s, must
have once been in some mind, you know."
"Isn't that rather like one of the Rules in Algebra?" my
Lady enquired. (^'Algebra too!" I thought with increasing
wonder.) "I mean, if we consider thoughts as factors, may
we not say that the Least Common Multiple of all the
minds contains that of all the books; but not the other
way r
"Certainly we may!" I replied, delighted with the illus-
tration. "And what a grand thing it would be," I went on
dreamily, thinking aloud rather than talking, "if we could
only apply that Rule to books! You know, in finding the
Least Common Multiple, we strike out a quantity wher-
ever it occurs, except in the term where it is raised to its
highest power. So we should have to erase every recorded
thought, except in the sentence where it is expressed with
the greatest intensity."
My Lady laughed merrily. ''Some books would be re-
duced to blank paper, I'm afraid!" she said.
"They would. Most libraries would be terribly dimin-
ished in bul\. But just think what they would gain in
quality!"
"When will it be done?" she eagerly asked. "If there's
any chance of it in my time, I think I'll leave oflF reading,
and wait for it!"
L AMIE INCONNUE 299
"Well, perhaps in another thousand years or so "
"Then there's no use waiting!" said my Lady. "Let's sit
down. Uggug, my pet, come and sit by me!"
"Anywhere but by mel" growled the Sub- Warden.
"The little wretch always manages to upset his coffee!"
I guessed at once (as perhaps the reader will also have
guessed, if, like myself, he is very clever at drawing con-
clusions) that my Lady was the Sub-Warden's wife, and
that Uggug (a hideous fat boy, about the same age as Syl-
vie, with the expression of a prize-pig) was their son. Syl-
vie and Bruno, with the Lord Chancellor, made up a party
of seven.
"And you actually got a plunge-bath every morning?"
said the Sub-Warden, seemingly in continuation of a con-
versation with the Professor. "Even at the little roadside-
inns r
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" the Professor replied with a
smile on his jolly face. "Allow me to explain. It is, in fact,
a very simple problem in Hydrodynamics. (That means a
combination of Water and Strength.) I£ we take a plunge-
bath, and a man of great strength (such as myself) about
to plunge into it, we have a perfect example of this science.
I am bound to admit," the Professor continued, in a lower
tone and with downcast eyes, "that we need a man of
remar\able strength. He must be able to spring from the
floor to about twice his own height, gradually turning
over as he rises, so as to come down again head first."
"Why, you need a flea, not-a manl" exclaimed the Sub-
Warden.
"Pardon me," said the Professor. "This particular kind
of bath is not adapted for a flea. Let us suppose," he con-
tinued, folding his table-napkin into a graceful festoon,
"that this represents what is perhaps the necessity of this
300 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Age — the Active Tourist's Portable Bath. You may des-
cribe it briefly, if you like/' looking at the Chancellor, "by
the letters A. T. P. B."
The Chancellor, much disconcerted at finding every-
body looking at him, could only murmur, in a shy whis-
per, "Precisely so!"
"One great advantage of this plunge-bath," continued
the Professor, "is that it requires only half-a-gallon of wa-
ter "
"I don't call it a plunge-hsiXh,'' His Sub-Excellency re-
marked, "unless your Active Tourist goes right under!''
"But he does go right under," the old man gently re-
plied. "The A. T. hangs up the P. B. on a nail — thus. He
then empties the water-jug into it — places the empty jug
below the bag — leaps into the air — descends head-first in-
to the bag — the water rises round him to the top of the
bag — and there you are!" he triumphantly concluded.
"The A. T. is as much under water as if he'd gone a mile
or two down into the Atlantic!"
"And he's drowned, let us say, in about four min-
utes "
"By no means!" the Professor answered with a proud
smile. "After about a minute, he quietly turns a tap at the
lower end of the P. B. — all the water runs back into the
jug — and there you are again!"
"But how in the world is he to get out of the bag
agam r
''That, I take it," said the*Professor, "is the most beauti-
ful part of the whole invention. All the way up the P. B.,
inside, are loops for the thumbs; so it's something like go-
ing up-stairs, only perhaps less comfortable; and, by the
time the A. T. has risen out of the bag, all but his head,
he's sure to topple over, one way or the other — the Law of
BIRTHDAY-PRESENTS 3OI
Gravity secures that. And there he is on the floor again!"
"A little bruised, perhaps?"
"Well, yes, a little bruised; but having had his plunge-
bath: that's the great thing."
"Wonderful! It's almost beyond belief!" murmured the
Sub- Warden. The Professor took it as a compliment, and
bowed with a gratified smile.
''Quite beyond belief!" my Lady added — meaning, no
doubt, to be more complimentary still. The Professor bow--
ed, but he didn't smile this time.
"I can assure you," he said earnestly, "that, provided the
bath was made, I used it every morning. I certainly or-
dered it — that I am clear about — my only doubt is, whe-
ther the man ever finished making it. It's difficult to re-
member, after so many years "
At this moment the door, very slowly and creakingly,
began to open, and Sylvie and Bruno jumped up, and ran
to meet the well-known footstep.
Chapter III
Birthday-Presents
"It's my brother!" the Sub- War den exclaimed, in a warn-
ing whisper. "Speak out and be quick about it!"
The appeal was evidently addressed to the Lord Chan-
cellor, who instantly replied, in a shrill monotone, like a
little boy repeating the alphabet, "As I was remarking,
your Sub-Excellency, this portentous movement "
"You began too soon!" the other interrupted, scarcely
able to restrain himself to a whisper, so great was his ex-
citement. "He couldn't have heard you. Begin again!"
302 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"As I was remarking," chanted the obedient Lord Chan-
cellor, "this portentous movement has already assumed
the dimensions of a Revolution!"
"And what are the dimensions of a Revolution?" The
voice was genial and mellow, and the face of the tall dig-
nified old man, who had just entered the room, leading
Sylvie by the hand, and with Bruno riding triumphantly
on his shoulder, was too noble and gentle to have scared a
less guilty man : but the Lord Chancellor turned pale in-
stantly, and could hardly articulate the words "The di-
mensions— your — your High Excellency? I — I — scarcely
comprehend!"
"Well, the length, breadth, and thickness, if you like it
better!" And the old man smiled, half-contemptuously.
The Lord Chancellor recovered himself with a great
effort, and pointed to the open window. "If your High
Excellency will listen for a moment to the shouts of the ex-
asperated populace " ("of the exasperated populace!"
the Sub-Warden repeated in a louder tone, as the Lord
Chancellor, being in a state of abject terror, had dropped
almost into a whisper) " — you will understand what it is
they want."
And at that moment there surged into the room a
hoarse confused cry, in which the only clearly audible
words were "Less — bread — More — taxes!" The old man
laughed heartily. "What in the world " he was begin-
ning: but the Chancellor heard him not. "Some mistake!"
he muttered, hurrying to the window, from which he
shortly returned with an air of relief. "Now listen!" he ex-
claimed, holding up his hand impressively. And now the
words came quite distinctly, and with the regularity of the
ticking of a clock, "More — bread — Less — taxes!"
"More bread!" the Warden repeated in astonishment.
"Why, the new Government Bakery was opened only last
BIRTHDAY-PRESENTS 303
week, and I gave orders to sell the bread at cost-price dur-
ing the present scarcity! What can they expect more?"
"The Bakery's closed, y'reince!" the Chancellor said,
more loudly and clearly than he had spoken yet. He was
emboldened by the consciousness that here, at least, he
had evidence to produce: and he placed in the Warden's
hands a few printed notices, that were lying ready, with
some open ledgers, on a side-table.
"Yes, yes, / see!" the Warden muttered, glancing care-
lessly through them. "Order countermanded by my bro-
ther, and supposed to be my doing! Rather sharp practice!
It's all right!" he added in a louder tone. "My name is
signed to it : so I take it on myself. But what do you mean
by 'Less Taxes'? How can they be less? I abolished the
last of them a month ago!"
"It's been put on again, y'reince, and by y'reince's own
orders!", and other printed notices were submitted for
inspection.
The Warden, whilst looking them over, glanced once
or twice at the Sub-Warden, who had seated himself be-
fore one of the open ledgers, and was quite absorbed in
adding it up; but he merely repeated "It's all right. I ac-
cept it as my doing."
"And they do say," the Chancellor went on sheepishly —
looking much more like a convicted thief than an Officer
of State, "that a change of Government, by the abolition
of the Sub-Warden — I mean," he hastily added, on seeing
the Warden's look of astonishment, "the abolition of the
office of Sub-Warden, and giving the present holder the
right to act as F/V^-Warden whenever the Warden is ab-
sent— would appease all this seedling discontent. I mean,"
he added, glancing at a paper he held in his hand, "all this
seething discontent!"
"For fifteen years," put in a deep but very harsh voice,
304 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"my husband has been acting as Sub-Warden. It is too
long! It is much too long!" My Lady was a vast creature at
all times : but, when she frowned and folded her arms, as
now, she looked more gigantic than ever, and made one
try to fancy what a haystack would look like, if out of
temper.
"He would distinguish himself as a Vice!" my Lady
proceeded, being far too stupid to see the double meaning
of her words. "There has been no such Vice in Outland
for many a long year, as he would be!"
"What course would you suggest. Sister?" the Warden
mildly enquired.
My Lady stamped, which was undignified : and snorted,
which was ungraceful. "This is no jesting matter!" she
bellowed.
"I will consult my brother," said the Warden. "Bro-
ther!"
" and seven makes a hundred and ninety-four, which
is sixteen and twopence," the Sub-Warden replied. "Put
down two and carry sixteen."
The Chancellor raised his hands and eyebrows, lost in
admiration. ^'Such a man of business!" he murmured.
"Brother, could I have a word with you in my Study?"
the Warden said in a louder tone. The Sub-Warden rose
with alacrity, and the two left the room together.
My Lady turned to the Professor, who had uncovered
the urn, and was taking its temperature with his pocket-
thermometer. "Professor!" she began, so loudly and sud-
denly that even Uggug, who had gone to sleep in his
chair, left off snoring and opened one eye. The Professor
pocketed his thermometer in a moment, clasped his hands,
and put his head on one side with a meek smile.
"You were teaching my son before breakfast, I believe?"
BIRTHDAY-PRESENTS 305
my Lady loftily remarked. "I hope he strikes you as hav-
ing talent?"
"Oh, very much so indeed, my Lady!" the Professor
hastily replied, unconsciously rubbing his ear, while some
painful recollection seemed to cross his mind. "I was very
forcibly struck by His Magnificence, I assure you!"
"He is a charming boy!" my Lady exclaimed. "Even
his snores are more musical than those of other boys!"
If that were so, the Professor seemed to think, the snores
of other boys must be something too awful to be endured :
but he was a cautious man, and he said nothing.
"And he's so clever!" my Lady continued "No one will
enjoy your Lecture more — by the way, have you fixed the
time for it yet.^ You've never given one, you know: and it
was promised years ago, before you "
"Yes, yes, my Lady, / know! Perhaps next Tuesday — or
Tuesday week "
"That will do very well," said my Lady, graciously. "Of
course you will let the Other Professor lecture as well?"
"I think not, my Lady," the Professor said with some
hesitation. "You see, he always stands with his back to the
audience. It does very well for reciting; but for lectur-
tng
"You are quite right," said my Lady. "And, now I come
to think of it, there would hardly be time for more than
one Lecture. And it will go off all the better, if we begin
with a Banquet, and a Fancy-dress Ball "
"It will indeed!" the Professor cried, with enthusiasm.
"I shall come as a Grass-hopper," my Lady calmly pro-
ceeded. "What shall you come as. Professor?"
The Professor smiled feebly. "I shall come as — as early
as I can, my Lady!"
"You mustn't come in before the doors are opened,"
said my Lady.
306 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"I ca'n't," said the Professor. "Excuse me a moment. As
this is Lady Sylvie's birthday, I would Hke to " and he
rushed away.
Bruno began feeHng in his pockets, looking more and
more melancholy as he did so : then he put his thumb in
his mouth, and considered for a minute: then he quietly
left the room.
He had hardly done so before the Professor was back
again, quite out of breath. "Wishing you many happy re-
turns of the day, my dear child!" he went on, addressing
the smiling little girl, who had run to meet him. "Allow
me to give you a birthday-present. It's a second-hand pin-
cushion, my dear. And it only cost fourpence-half penny ! "
"Thank you, it's very pretty!" And Sylvie rewarded the
old man with a hearty kiss.
"And the pins they gave me for nothing!" the Professor
added in high glee. "Fifteen of em, and only one bent!"
"I'll make the bent one into a hoo\r said Sylvie. "To
catch Bruno with, when he runs away from his lessons!"
"You can't guess what my present is!" said Uggug, who
had taken the butter-dish from the table, and was stand-
ing behind her, with a wicked leer on his face.
"No, I can't guess," Sylvie said without looking up. She
was still examining the Professor's pincushion.
"It's this!" cried the bad boy, exultingly, as he emptied
the dish over her, and then, with a grin of delight at his
own cleverness, looked round for applause.
Sylvie coloured crimson, as she shook off the butter
from her frock : but she kept her lips tight shut, and walk-
ed away to the window, where she stood looking out and
trying to recover her temper.
Uggug's triumph was a very short one: the Sub-War-
den had returned, just in time to be a witness of his dear
child's playfulness, and in another moment a skilfully-
BIRTHDAY-PRESENTS 307
applied box on the ear had changed the grin of dehght in-
to a howl of pain.
"My darling!" cried his mother, enfolding him in her
fat arms. "Did they box his ears for nothing? A precious
pet!"
"It's not for nothing!'' growled the angry father. "Are
you aware, Madam, that / pay the house-bills, out of a
fixed annual sum ? The loss of all that wasted butter falls
on me! Do you hear. Madam!"
"Hold your tongue. Sir!" My Lady spoke very quietly
— almost in a whisper. But there was something in her
loof{ which silenced him. "Don't you see it was only a
jof{e? And a very clever one, too! He only meant that he
loved nobody but her! And, instead of being pleased with
the compliment, the spiteful little thing has gone away in
a huff!"
The Sub-Warden was a very good hand at changing a
subject. He walked across to the window. "My dear," he
said, "is that a pig that I see down below, rooting about
among your flower-beds?"
"A pig!'' shrieked my Lady, rushing madly to the win-
dow, and almost pushing her husband out, in her anxiety
to see for herself. "Whose pig is it? How did it get in.^
Where's that crazy Gardener gone?"
At this moment Bruno re-entered the room, and passing
Uggug (who was blubbering his loudest, in the hope of
attracting notice) as if he was quite used to that sort of
thing, he ran up to Sylvie and threw his arms round her.
"I went to my toy-cupboard," he said with a very sorrow-
ful face, "to see if there were somefin fit for a present for
00! And there isn't nuffin! They's all broken^ every one!
And I haven't got no money left, to buy 00 a birthday-
present! And I ca'n't give 00 nuffin but this!'' (''This" was
a very earnest hug and a kiss.)
308 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Oh, thank you, darUng!" cried Sylvie. "I Hke your
present best of all!" (But if so, why did she give it back so
quickly ? )
His Sub-Excellency turned and patted the two children
on the head with his long lean hands. "Go away, dears!"
he said. "There's business to talk over."
Sylvie and Bruno went away hand in hand: but, on
reaching the door, Sylvie came back again and went up to
Uggug timidly. "I don't mind about the butter," she said,
"and I — I'm sorry he hurt you!" And she tried to shake
hands with the little ruffian: but Uggug only blubbered
louder, and wouldn't make friends. Sylvie left the room
with a sigh.
The Sub-Warden glared angrily at his weeping son.
"Leave the room. Sirrah!" he said, as loud as he dared.
His wife was still leaning out of the window, and kept re-
peating "I cant see that pig! Where is it?"
"It's moved to the right — now it's gone a little to the
left," said the Sub-Warden: but he had his back to the
window, and was making signals to the Lord Chancellor,
pointing to Uggug and the door, with many a cunning
nod and wink.
The Chancellor caught his meaning at last, and cross-
ing the room, took that interesting child by the ear — the
next moment he and Uggug were out of the room, and
the door shut behind them: but not before one piercing
yell had rung through the room, and reached the ears of
the fond mother.
"What is that hideous noise?" she fiercely asked, turn-
ing upon her startled husband.
"It's some hyaena — or other," replied the Sub-Warden,
looking vaguely up to the ceiling, as if that was where
they usually were to be found. "Let us to business, my
dear. Here comes the Warden." And he picked up from
A CUNNING CONSPIRACY 309
the floor a wandering scrap of manuscript, on which I just
caught the words "after which Election duly holden the
said Sibimet and Tabikat his wife may at their pleasure
assume Imperial " before, with a guilty look, he crum-
pled it up in his hand.
Chapter IV
A Cunning Conspiracy
The Warden entered at this moment: and close behind
him came the Lord Chancellor, a little flushed and out of
breath, and adjusting his wig, which appeared to have
been dragged partly off his head.
"But where is my precious child?" my Lady enquired,,
as the four took their seats at the small side-table devoted
to ledgers and bundles and bills.
"He left the room a few minutes ago— ^with the Lord
Chancellor," the Sub-Warden briefly explained.
"Ah!" said my Lady, graciously smiling on that high
official. "Your Lordship has a very ta\ing way with chil-
dren! I doubt if any one could gain the ear of my darling
Uggug so quickly as you can!" For an entirely stupid wo-
man, my Lady's remarks were curiously full of meaning,
of which she herself was wholly unconscious.
The Chancellor bowed, but with a very uneasy air. "I
think the Warden was about to speak," he remarked, evi-
dently anxious to change the subject.
But my Lady would not be checked. "He is a clever
boy," she continued with enthusiasm, "but he needs a
man like your Lordship to draw him out!''
The Chancellor bit his lip, and was silent. He evidently
310 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
feared that, stupid as she looked, she understood what she
said this time, and was having a joke at his expense. He
might have spared himself all anxiety : whatever acciden-
tal meaning her words might have, she herself never
meant anything at all.
"It is all settled!" the Warden announced, wasting no
time over preliminaries. "The Sub-Wardenship is abolish-
ed, and my brother is appointed to act as Vice- Warden
whenever I am absent. So, as I am going abroad for a
while, he will enter on his new duties at once."
"And there will really be a Vice after all?" my Lady
enquired.
"I hope so!" the Warden smilingly replied.
My Lady looked much pleased, and tried to clap her
hands : but you might as well have knocked two feather-
beds together, for any noise it made. "When my husband
is Vice," she said, "it will be the same as if we had a hun-
dred Vices!"
"Hear, hear!" cried the Sub-Warden.
"You seem to think it very remarkable," my Lady re-
marked with some severity, "that your wife should speak
the truth!"
"No, not remar\able at all!" her husband anxiously ex-
plained. ''Nothing is remarkable that you say, sweet one!"
My Lady smiled approval of the sentiment, and went
on. "And am I Vice-Wardeness ? "
"If you choose to use that title," said the Warden: "but
'Your Excellency' will be the proper style of address. And
I trust that both 'His Excellency' and 'Her Excellency'
will observe the Agreement I have drawn up. The provi-
sion I am most anxious about is this." He unrolled a large
parchment scroll, and read aloud the words " 'item, that
we will be kind to the poor.' The Chancellor worded it for
A CUNNING CONSPIRACY 3II
me/' he added, glancing at that great Functionary. "I sup-
pose, now, that word 'item' has some deep legal mean-
ing?
"Undoubtedly!" replied the Chancellor, as articulately
as he could with a pen between his lips. He was nervously
rolling and unrolling several other scrolls, and making
room among them for the one the Warden had just hand-
ed to him. "These are merely the rough copies," he ex-
plained: "and, as soon as I have put in the final correc-
tions— " making a great commotion among the different
parchments, " — a semi-colon or two that I have acciden-
tally omitted — " here he darted about, pen in hand, from
one part of the scroll to another, spreading sheets of blot-
ting-paper over his corrections, "all will be ready for sign-
mg.
"Should it not be read out, first?" my Lady enquired.
"No need, no need!" the Sub-Warden and the Chan-
cellor exclaimed at the same moment, with feverish eager-
ness.
"No need at all," the Warden gently assented. "Your
husband and I have gone through it together. It provides
that he shall exercise the full authority of Warden, and
shall have the disposal of the annual revenue attached to
the office, until my return, or, failing that, until Bruno
comes of age : and that he shall then hand over, to myself
or to Bruno as the case may be, the Wardenship, the un-
spent revenue, and the contents of the Treasury, which are
to be preserved, intact, under his guardianship."
All this time the Sub-Warden was busy, with the Chan-
cellor's help, shifting the papers from side to side, and
pointing out to the Warden the place where he was to
sign. He then signed it himself, and my Lady and the
Chancellor added their names as witnesses.
"Short partings are best," said the Warden. "All is ready
312 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
for my journey. My children are waiting below to see me
off." He gravely kissed my Lady, shook hands with his
brother and the Chancellor, and left the room.
The three waited in silence till the sound of wheels an-
nounced that the Warden was out of hearing: then, to my
surprise, they broke into peals of uncontrollable laughter.
"What a game, oh, what a game!" cried the Chancellor.
And he and the Vice-Warden joined hands, and skipped
wildly about the room. My Lady was too dignified to skip,
but she laughed like the neighing of a horse, and waved
her handkerchief above her head : it was clear to her very
limited understanding that something very clever had
been done, but what it was she had yet to learn.
"You said I should hear all about it when the Warden
had gone," she remarked, as soon as she could make her-
self heard.
"And so you shall, Tabby!" her husband graciously
replied, as he removed the blotting paper, and showed the
two parchments lying side by side. "This is the one he
read but didn't sign : and this is the one he signed but did-
n't read! You see it was all covered up, except the place for
signing the names — "
"Yes, yes!" my Lady interrupted eagerly, and began
comparing the two Agreements. " 'Item, that he shall ex-
ercise the authority of Warden, in the Warden's absence.'
Why, that's been changed into 'shall be absolute governor
for life, with the title of Emperor, if elected to that office
by the people.' What! Are you Emperor, darling?"
"Not yet, dear," the Vice-Warden replied. "It won't do
to let this paper be seen, just at present. All in good time."
My Lady nodded, and read on. " 'Item, that we will be
kind to the poor.' Why, that's omitted altogether!"
"Course it Is!" said her husband. ''Were not going to
bother about the wretches!"
A CUNNING CONSPIRACY 313
''Good," said my Lady, with emphasis, and read on
again. " 'Item, that the contents of the Treasury be pre-
served intact.' Why, that's altered into 'shall be at the ab-
solute disposal of the Vice-Warden'! Well, Sibby, that
was a clever trick! All the Jevs/els, only think! May I go
and put them on directly?"
"Well, not just yet, Lovey," her husband uneasily re-
plied "You see the public mind isn't quite ripe for it yet.
We must feel our w^ay. Of course we'll have the coach-
and-four out, at once. And I'll take the title of Emperor,
as soon as we can safely hold an Election. But they'll hard-
ly stand our using the Jewels, as long as they know the
Warden's alive. We must spread a report of his death.
A little Conspiracy — "
"A Conspiracy!" cried the delighted lady, clapping her
hands. "Of all things, I do like a Conspiracy! It's so inter-
esting!"
The Vice-Warden and the Chancellor interchanged a
wink or two. "Let her conspire to her heart's content!" the
cunning Chancellor whispered. "It'll do no harm!"
"And when will the Conspiracy — "
"Hist!" her husband hastily interrupted her, as the door
opened, and Sylvie and Bruno came in, with their arms
twined lovingly round each other — Bruno sobbing con-
vulsively, with his face hidden on his sister's shoulder, and
Sylvie more grave and quiet, but with tears streaming
down her cheeks.
"Mustn't cry like that!" the Vice-Warden said sharply,
but without any effect on the weeping children. "Cheer
'em up a bit!" he hinted to my Lady.
"CakeT my Lady muttered to herself with great do
cision, crossing the room and opening a cupboard, from
which she presently returned with two slices of plum-cake,
"Eat, and don't cry!" were her short and simple orders:
314 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
and the poor children sat down side by side, but seemed in
no mood for eating.
For the second time the door opened — or rather was
burst open, this time, as Uggug rushed violently into the
room, shouting "that old Beggar's come again!"
"He's not to have any food — " the Vice- Warden was be-
ginning, but the Chancellor interrupted him. "It's all
right," he said, in a low voice: "the servants have their
orders."
"He's just under here," said Uggug, who had gone to
the window, and was looking down into the court-yard.
"Where, my darling?" said his fond mother, flinging
her arms round the neck of the little monster. All of us
(except Sylvie and Bruno, who took no notice of what
was going on) followed her to the window. The old Beg-
gar looked up at us with hungry eyes. "Only a crust of
bread your Highness!" he pleaded. He was a fine old
man, but looked sadly ill and worn. "A crust of bread is
what I crave!" he repeated. "A single crust and a little
water!"
"Here's some water, drink this!" Uggug bellowed, emp-
tying a jug of water over his head.
"Well done, my boy!" cried the Vice-Warden. "That's
the way to settle such folk!"
"Clever boy!" the Wardeness chimed in. ''Hasn't he
good spirits?"
"Take a stick to him!" shouted the Vice- Warden, as the
old Beggar shook the water from his ragged cloak, and
again gazed meekly upwards.
"Take a red-hot poker to him!" my Lady again chimed
in.
Possibly there was no red-hot poker handy: but some
.sticks were forthcoming in a moment, and threatening
faces surrounded the poor old wanderer, who waved them
A CUNNING CONSPIRACY 315
back with quiet dignity. "No need to break my old
bones/' he said. '1 am going. Not even a crust!"
"Poor, poor old man!" exclaimed a little voice at my
side, half choked with sobs. Bruno was at the window,
trying to throw out his slice of plum-cake, but Sylvie held
him back.
"He shall have my cake!" Bruno cried, passionately
struggling out of Sylvie's arms.
"Yes, yes, darling!" Sylvie gently pleaded. "But don't
throw it out! He's gone away, don't you see? Let's go af-
ter him." And she led him out of the room, unnoticed by
the rest of the party, who were wholly absorbed in watch-
ing the old Beggar.
The Conspirators returned to their seats, and continued
their conversation in an undertone, so as not to be heard
by Uggug, who was still standing at the window.
"By the way, there was something about Bruno succeed-
ing to the Wardenship," said my Lady. "How does that
stand in the new Agreement?"
The Chancellor chuckled. "Just the same, word for
word," he said, "with one exception, my Lady. Instead of
'Bruno,' I've taken the liberty to put in — " he dropped his
voice to a whisper, " — to put in 'Uggug,' you know!"
"Uggug, indeed!" I exclaimed, in a burst of indignation
I could no longer control. To bring out even that one
word seemed a gigantic effort: but, the cry once uttered,
all effort ceased at once: a sudden gust swept away the
whole scene, and I found myself sitting up, staring at the
young lady in the opposite corner of the carriage, who had
now thrown back her veil, and was looking at me with
an expression of amused surprise.
Chapter V
A Beggar's Palace
That I had said something, in the act of waking, I felt
sure: the hoarse stifled cry was still ringing in my ears,
even if the startled look of my fellow-traveler had not
been evidence enough: but what could I possibly say by
way of apology ?
"I hope I didn't frighten you?" I stammered out at last.
"I have no idea what I said. I was dreaming."
"You said 'Uggug indeed!' " the young lady replied,
with quivering lips that would curve themselves into a
smile, in spite of all her efforts to look grave. "At least —
you didn't say it — you shouted it!"
"I'm very sorry," was all I could say, feeling very peni-
tent and helpless. "She has Sylvie's eyes!" I thought to my-
self, half-doubting whether, even now, I were fairly
awake. "And that sweet look of innocent wonder is all
Sylvie's, too. But Sylvie hasnt got that calm resolute
mouth — nor that far-away look of dreamy sadness, like
one that has had some deep sorrow, very long ago — " And
the thick-coming fancies almost prevented my hearing the
lady's next words.
"If you had had a 'Shilling Dreadful' in your hand," she
proceeded, "something about Ghosts — or Dynamite — or
Midnight Murder — one could understand it : those things
aren't worth the shilling, unless they give one a Night-
mare. But really — with only a medical treatise, you know
— " and she glanced, with a pretty shrug of contempt, at
the book over which I had fallen asleep.
Her friendliness, and utter unre^^erve, took me aback
for a moment; yet there was no touch of forwardness, or
boldness, about the child — for child, almost, she seemed to
be: I guessed her at scarcely over twenty — all was the in-
316
A BEGGAR S PALACE 317
nocent frankness of some angelic visitant, new to the ways
of earth and the conventionaHsms — or, if you will, the bar-
barisms— of Society. "Even so," I mused, "will Sylvie look
and speak, in another ten years."
"You don't care for Ghosts, then," I ventured to sug-
gest, "unless they are really terrifying?"
"Quite so," the lady assented. "The regular Railway-
Ghosts — I mean the Ghosts of ordinary Railway-literature
— are very poor affairs. I feel inclined to say, with Alexan-
der Selkirk, 'Their tameness is shocking to me'! And they
never do any Midnight Murders. They couldn't 'welter in
gore,' to save their lives!"
" 'Weltering in gore' is a very expressive phrase, cer-
tainly. Can it be done in any fluid, I wonder?"
"I think not'' the lady readily replied — quite as if she
had thought it out, long ago. "It has to be something
thic\. For instance, you might welter in bread-sauce.
That, being white, would be more suitable for a Ghost,,
supposing it wished to welter!"
"You have a real good terrifying Ghost in that book?"
I hinted.
"How could you guess?" she exclaimed with the most
engaging frankness, and placed the volume in my hands.
I opened it eagerly, with a not unpleasant thrill (like what
a good ghost-story gives one) at the "uncanny" coinci-
dence of my having so unexpectedly divined the subject of
her studies.
It was a book of Domestic Cookery, open at the article
"Bread Sauce."
I returned the book, looking, I suppose, a little blank,
as the lady laughed merrily at my discomfiture. "It's far
more exciting than some of the modern ghosts, I assure
you! Now there was a Ghost last month — I don't mean
a real Ghost in — in Supernature — but in a Magazine. It
3l8 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
was a perfectly flavourless Ghost. It wouldn't have fright-
ened a mouse! It wasn't a Ghost that one would even
offer a chair to!"
"Three score years and ten, baldness, and spectacles,
have their advantages after all!" I said to myself. "Instead
of a bashful youth and maiden, gasping out monosyllables
at awful intervals, here we have an old man and a child,
quite at their ease, talking as if they had known each
other for years! Then you think," I continued aloud, "that
we ought sometimes to ask a Ghost to sit down? But
have we any authority for it? In Shakespeare, for in-
stance— there are plenty of ghosts tJiere — does Shake-
speare ever give the stage-direction 'hands chair to
Ghost'?"
The lady looked puzzled and thoughtful for a moment :
then she almost clapped her hands. "Yes, yes, he doesT
she cried. "He makes Hamlet say 'Rest, rest, perturbed
Spirit!' "
"And that, I suppose, means an easy-chair?"
"An American rocking-chair, I thin\ — "
"Fayfield Junction, my Lady, change for Elveston!"
the guard announced, flinging open the door of the car-
riage : and we soon found ourselves, with all our portable
property around us, on the platform.
The accommodation, provided for passengers waiting
at this Junction, was distinctly inadequate — a single
wooden bench, apparently intended for three sitters only :
and even this was already partially occupied by a very
old man, in a smock frock, who sat, with rounded shoul-
ders and drooping head, and with hands clasped on the
top of his stick so as to make a sort of pillow for that
wrinkled face with its look of patient weariness.
"Come, you be off!" the Station-master roughly ac-
costed the poor old man. "You be off, and make way for
A BEGGAR S PALACE 319
•
your betters! This way, my Lady!" he added in a per-
fectly different tone. "I£ your Ladyship will take a seat,
the train will be up in a few minutes." The cringing
servility of his manner was due, no doubt, to the address
legible on the pile of luggage, which announced their
owner to be "Lady Muriel Orme, passenger to Elveston,
via Fayfield Junction."
As I watched the old man slowly rise to his feet, and
hobble a few paces down the platform, the lines came
to my lips: —
'*From sac\cloth couch the Mon\ arose,
With toil his stiffen d limbs he rear'd;
A hundred years had flung their snows
On his thin loc\s and floating beard''
But the lady scarcely noticed the little incident. After
one glance at the "banished man" who stood tremulously
leaning on his stick, she turned to me. "This is not an
American rocking-chair, by any means! Yet may I say,"
slightly changing her place, so as to make room for me
beside her, "may I say, in Hamlet's words, *Rest, rest — ' "
she broke off with a silvery laugh.
" ' — perturbed Spirit!' " I finished the sentence for her.
"Yes, that describes a railway-traveler exactly! And here
is an instance of it," I added, as the tiny local train drew
up alongside the platform, and the porters bustled about,
opening carriage-doors — one of them helping the poor
old man to hoist himself into a third-class carriage, while
another of them obsequiously conducted the lady and my-
self into a first-class.
She paused, before following him, to watch the progress
of the other passenger. "Poor old man!" she said. "How
weak and ill he looks! It was a shame to let him be
turned away like that. I'm very sorry — " At this moment
it dawned on me that these words were not addressed to
320 . SYLVIE AND BRUNO
me^ but that she was unconsciously thinking aloud. I
moved away a few steps, and waited to follow her into
the carriage, where I resumed the conversation.
"Shakespeare must have traveled by rail, if only in a
dream: 'perturbed Spirit' is such a happy phrase."
"'Perturbed' referring, no doubt," she rejoined, "to
the sensational booklets, peculiar to the Rail. If Steam has
done nothing else, it has at least added a whole new
Species to English Literature!"
"No doubt of it," I echoed. "The true origin of all our
medical books — and all our cookery-books — "
"No, no!" she broke in merrily. "I didn't mean our
Literature! We are quite abnormal. But the booklets —
the little thrilling romances, where the Murder comes at
page fifteen, and the Wedding at page forty — surely they
are due to Steam?"
"And when we travel by Electricity — if I may venture
to develop your theory — we shall have leaflets instead of
booklets, and the Murder and the Wedding will come on
the same page."
"A development worthy of Darwin!" the lady exclaim-
ed enthusiastically. "Only you reverse his theory. Instead
of developing a mouse into an elephant, you would de-
velop an elephant into a mouse!" But here we plunged
into a tunnel, and I leaned back and closed my eyes for
a moment, trying to recall a few of the incidents of my
recent dream.
"I thought I saw — " I murmured sleepily: and then the
phrase insisted on conjugating itself, and ran into "you
thought you saw — he thought he saw — " and then it sud-
denly went off into a song : —
^^He thought he saw an Elephant,
That practised on a fife: '
He loo\ed again, and found it was
A BEGGAR S PALACE 32I
A letter from his wife.
'At length I realise,^ he said,
*The bitterness of Life/
f f>
And what a wild being it was who sang these wild
words! A Gardener he seemed to be — yet surely a mad
one, by the way he brandished his rake — madder, by the
way he broke, ever and anon, into a frantic jig — maddest
of all, by the shriek in which he brought out the last
words of the stanza!
It was so far a description of himself that he had the
jeet of an Elephant: but the rest of him was skin and
bone : and the wisps of loose straw, that bristled all about
him, suggested that he had been originally stuffed with
it, and that nearly all the stuffing had come out.
Sylvie and Bruno waited patiently till the end of the
first verse. Then Sylvie advanced alone (Bruno having
suddenly turned shy) and timidly introduced herself
with the words "Please, I'm Sylvie!"
"And who's that other thing?" said the Gardener.
"What thing?" said Sylvie, looking round. "Oh, that's
Bruno. He's my brother."
"Was he your brother yesterday?" the Gardener anx-
iously enquired.
"Course I were!" cried Bruno, who had gradually crept
nearer, and didn't at all like being talked about without
having his share in the conversation.
"Ah, well!" the Gardener said with a kind of groan.
"Things change so, here. Whenever I look again it's sure
to be something different! Yet I does my duty! I gets up
wriggle-early at five — "
"If I was 00," said Bruno, "I wouldn't wriggle so early.
It's as bad as being a worm!" he added, in an undertone
to Sylvie.
"But you shouldn't be lazy in the morning, Bruno,"
322 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
said Sylvie. "Remember, it's the early bird that picks up
the worm!"
"It may, if it Hkes!" Bruno said with a sUght yawn.
"I don't Uke eating worms, one bit. I always stop in bed
till the early bird has picked them up!"
"I wonder you've the face to tell me such fibs!" cried
the Gardener.
To which Bruno wisely replied, "Oo don't want a face
to tell fibs wiz — only a mouf.''
Sylvie discreetly changed the subject. "And did you
plant all these flowers?" she said. "What a lovely garden
you've made! Do you know, I'd like to live here always T
"In the winter-nights — " the Gardener was beginning.
"But I'd nearly forgotten what we came about!" Sylvie
interrupted. "Would you please let us through into the
road? There's a poor old beggar just gone out — and he's
very hungry — and Bruno wants to give him his cake,
you know!"
"It's as much as my place is worth!" the Gardener mut-
tered, taking a key from his pocket, and beginning to
unlock a door in the garden-wall.
"How much are it wurf ?" Bruno innocently enquired.
But the Gardener only grinned. "That's a secret!" he
said. "Mind you come back quick!" he called after the
children, as they passed out into the road. I had just time
to follow them, before he shut the door again.
We hurried down the road, and very soon caught sight
of the old Beggar, about a quarter of a mile ahead of us,
and the children at once set off running to overtake him.
Lightly and swiftly they skimmed over the ground, and
I could not in the least understand how it was I kept up
with them so easily. But the unsolved problem did not
worry me so much as at another time it might have done,
there were so many other things to attend to.
A BEGGAR S PALACE 323
The old Beggar must have been very deaf, as he paid
no attention whatever to Bruno's eager shouting, but
trudged wearily on, never pausing until the child got in
front of him and held up the slice of cake. The poor
little fellow was quite out of breath, and could only utter
the one word "Cake!" — not with the gloomy decision
with which Her Excellency had so lately pronounced it,
but with a sweet childish timidity, looking up into the old
man's face with eyes that loved "all things both great
and small."
The old man snatched it from him, and devoured it
greedily, as some hungry wild beast might have done,
but never a word of thanks did he give his little bene-
factor— only growled "More, more!" and glared at the
half-frightened children.
"There is no more!" Sylvie said with tears in her eyes.
"I'd eaten mine. It was a shame to let you be turned
away like that. I'm very sorry — "
I lost the rest of the sentence, for my mind had re-
curred, with a great shock of surprise, to Lady Muriel
Orme, who had so lately uttered these very words of
Sylvie's — yes, and in Sylvie's own voice, and with Sylvie's
gentle pleading eyes!
"JFoUow me!" were the next words I heard, as the old
man waved his hand, with a dignified grace that ill
suited his ragged dress, over a bush, that stood by the
road side, which began instantly to sink into the earth.
At another time I might have doubted the evidence of
my eyes, or at least have felt some astonishment: but, in
Ms strange scene, my whole being seemed absorbed in
strong curiosity as to what would happen next.
When the bush had sunk quite out of our sight, marble
steps were seen, leading downwards into darkness. The
old man led the way, and we eagerly followed.
324 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
The staircase was so dark, at first, that I could only just
see the forms of the children, as, hand-in-hand, they
groped their way down after their guide: but it got
lighter every moment, with a strange silvery brightness,
that seemed to exist in the air, as there were no lamps
visible; and, when at last we reached a level floor, the
room, we found ourselves in, was almost as light as day.
It was eight-sided, having in each angle a slender pillar,
round which silken draperies were twined. The wall be-
tween the pillars was entirely covered, to the height of six
or seven feet, with creepers, frojn which hung quantities
of ripe fruit and of brilliant flowers, that almost hid the
leaves. In another place, perchance, I might have wonder-
ed to see fruit and flowers growing together: here, my
chief wonder was that neither fruit nor flowers were such
as I had ever seen before. Higher up, each wall contained
a circular window of coloured glass; and over all was an
arched roof, that seemed to be spangled all over with
jewels.
With hardly less wonder, I turned this way and that,
trying to make out how in the world we had come in:
for there was no door : and all the walls were thickly cov-
ered with the lovely creepers.
''We are safe here, my darlings!" said the old man,
laying a hand on Sylvie's shoulder, and bending down to
kiss her. Sylvie drew back hastily, with an offended air:
but in another moment, with a glad cry of "Why, it's
Father!'\ she had run into his arms.
"Father! Father!" Bruno repeated: and, while the
happy children were being hugged and kissed, I could
but rub my eyes and say "Where, then, are the rags gone
to?"; for the old man was now dressed in royal robes
that glittered with jewels and gold embroidery, and wore
a circlet of gold around his head.
Chapter VI
The Magic Locket
"Where are we, father?" Sylvie whispered, with her
arms twined closely around the old man's neck, and with
her rosy cheek lovingly pressed to his.
"In Elfland, darling. It's one of the provinces of Fairy-
land."
"But I thought Elfland was ever so far from Outland:
and we've come such a tiny little way!"
"You came by the Royal Road, sweet one. Only those
of royal blood can travel along it : but youve been royal
ever since I was made King of Elfland — that's nearly a
month ago. They sent two ambassadors, to make sure
that their invitation to me, to be their new King, should
reach me. One was a Prince; so he was able to come by
the Royal Road, and to come invisibly to all but me: the
other was a Baron; so he had to come by the common
road, and I dare say he hasn't even arrived yet."
"Then how far have we come?" Sylvie enquired.
"Just a thousand miles, sweet one, since the Gardener
unlocked that door for you."
"A thousand miles!" Bruno repeated. "And may I eat
one r
"Eat a mile^ little rogue?"
"No," said Bruno. "I mean may I eat one of that
fruits?"
"Yes, child," said the father: "and then you'll find out
what Pleasure is like — the Pleasure we all seek so madly,
and enjoy so mournfully!"
Bruno ran eagerly to the wall, and picked a fruit that
was shaped something like a banana, but had the colour
of a strawberry.
326 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
He ate it with beaming looks, that became gradually
more gloomy, and were very blank indeed by the time
he had finished.
"It hasn't got no taste at all!" he complained. "I couldn't
feel nuflin in my mouf! It's a — what's that hard word,
Sylvie?"
"It was a Fhlizzr Sylvie gravely replied. "Are they all
like that, father?"
"They're all like that to you, darling, because you don't
belong to Elfland — yet. But X.o me they are real."
Bruno looked puzzled. "I'll try anuvver kind of fruits!"
he said, and jumped down off the King's knee. "There's
some lovely striped ones, just like a rainbow!" And off
he ran.
Meanwhile the Fairy-King and Sylvie were talking to-
gether, but in such low tones that I could not catch the
words : so I followed Bruno, who was picking and eating
other kinds of fruit, in the vain hope of finding some
that had a taste. I tried to pick some myself — but it was
like grasping air, and I soon gave up the attempt and
returned to Sylvie.
"Look well at it, my darling," the old man was saying,
"and tell me how you like it."
"It's just lovely^' cried Sylvie, delightedly. "Bruno,
come and look!" And she held up, so that he might see
the light through it, a heart-shaped Locket, apparently cut
out of a single jewel, of a rich blue colour, with a slender
gold chain attached to it.
"It are welly pretty," Bruno more soberly remarked:
and he began spelling out some words inscribed on it.
"All — will — love — Sylvie," he made them out at last.
"And so they doos!" he cried, clasping his arms round
her neck. ''Everybody loves Sylvie!"
"But we love her best, don't we, Bruno?" said the old
THE MAGIC LOCKET 327
King, as he took possession of the Locket. "Now, Sylvie,
look at thisT And he showed her, lying on the palm of
his hand, a Locket of a deep crimson colour, the same
shape as the blue one, and, like it, attached to a slender
golden chain.
"Lovelier and lovelier!" exclaimed Sylvie, clasping her
hands in ecstasy. "Look, Bruno!"
"And there's words on this one, too," said Bruno.
"Sylvie — will — love — all."
"Now you see the difference," said the old man: "dif-
ferent colours and different words. Choose one of them,
darling. I'll give you whichever you like best."
Sylvie whispered the words, several times over, with a
thoughtful smile, and then made her decision. "It's very
nice to be loved," she said: "but it's nicer to love other
people! May I have the red one. Father?"
The old man said nothing: but I could see his eyes fill
with tears, as he bent his head and pressed his lips to her
forehead in a long loving kiss. Then he undid the chain,
and showed her how to fasten it round her neck, and to
hide it away under the edge of her frock. "It's for you to
\eep^ you know," he said in a low voice, "not for other
people to see. You'll remember how to use it?"
"Yes, I'll remember," said Sylvie.
"And now, darlings, it's time for you to go back, or
they'll be missing you, and then that poor Gardener will
get into trouble!" *
Once more a feeling of wonder rose in my mind as to
how in the world we were to get back again — since I
took it for granted that wherever the children went, /
was to go — but no shadow of doubt seemed to cross their
minds, as they hugged and kissed him, murmuring, over
and over again, "Good-bye, darling Father!" And then,
suddenly and swiftly, the darkness of midnight seemed
328 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
to close in upon us, and through the darkness harshly
rang a strange wild song: —
''He thought he saw a BwQalo
Upon the chimney -piece:
He loo\ed again, and found it was
His Sisters Husband's Niece.
'Unless you leave this house , he said,
'I'll send for the Police!' "
"That was mer he added, looking out at us, through
the half-opened door, as we stood waiting in the road.
"And that's what I'd have done — as sure as potatoes aren't
radishes — i£ she hadn't have tooken herself off! But I al-
ways loves my pay-rints like anything."
"Who are oor pay-rints?'' said Bruno.
"Them as pay rint for me, a course!" the Gardener
replied. "You can come in now, if you like."
He flung the door open as he spoke, and we got out,
a little dazzled and stupefied (at least / felt so) at the
sudden transition from the half-darkness of the railway-
carriage to the brilliantly-lighted platform of Elveston
Station.
A footman, in a handsome livery, came forwards and
respectfully touched his hat. "The carriage is here, my
Lady," he said, taking from her the wraps and small
articles she was carrying: and Lady Muriel, after shaking
hands and bidding me "Good-night!" with a pleasant
smile, followed him.
It was with a somewhat blank and lonely feeling that
I betook myself to the van from which the luggage was
being taken out: and, after giving directions to have my
boxes sent after me, I made my way on foot to Arthur's
lodgings, and soon lost my lonely feeling in the hearty
welcome my old friend gave me, and the cozy warmth
THE MAGIC LOCKET 329
and cheerful light of the little sitting-room into which
he led me.
"Little, as you see, but quite enough for us two. Now,
take the easy-chair, old fellow, and let's have another look
at you! Well, you do look a bit pulled down!" and he
put on a solemn professional air. "I prescribe Ozone,
quant, suff. Social dissipation, fiant pilulce quam plurimce:
to be taken, feasting, three times a day!"
"But, Doctor!" I remonstrated. "Society doesn't 'receive'
three times a day!"
"That's all you know about it!" the young Doctor
gaily replied. "At home, lawn-tennis, 3 p.m. At home,
kettledrum, 5 p.m. At home, music (Elveston doesn't give
dinners), 8 p.m. Carriages at 10. There you are!"
It sounded very pleasant, I was obliged to admit. "And
I know some of the /a<^y-society already," I added. "One
of them came in the same carriage with me."
"What was she like? Then perhaps I can identify her."
"The name was Lady Muriel Orme. As to what she
was li\e — well, / thought her very beautiful. Do you
know her?"
"Yes — I do know her." And the grave Doctor coloured
slightly as he added "Yes, I agree with you. She is
beautiful."
"/ quite lost my heart to her!" I went on mischievously.
"We talked—"
"Have some supper!" Arthur interrupted with an air
of relief, as the maid entered with the tray. And he stead-
ily resisted all my attempts to return to the subject of
Lady Muriel until the evening had almost worn itself
away. Then, as we sat gazing into the fire, and conversa-
tion was lapsing into silence, he made a hurried confes-
sion.
"I hadn't meant to tell you anything about her," he
330 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
said (naming no names, as i£ there were only one "she"
in the world!) "till you had seen more of her, and formed
your own judgment of her: but somehow you surprised
it out of me. And Fve not breathed a word of it to any
one else. But I can trust you with a secret, old friend!
Yes! It's true of me^ what I suppose you said in jest."
"In the merest jest, believe me!" I said earnestly. "Why^
man, Fm three times her age! But if she's your choice,
then I'm sure she's all that is good and — "
" — and sweet," Arthur went on, "and pure, and self-
denying, and true-hearted, and — " he broke off hastily, as
if he could not trust himself to say more on a subject
so sacred and so precious. Silence followed : and I leaned
back drowsily in my easy-chair, filled with bright and
beautiful imaginings of Arthur and his lady-love, and of
all the peace and happiness in store for them.
I pictured them to myself walking together, lingeringly
and lovingly, under arching trees, in a sweet garden of
their own, and welcomed back by their faithful gardener,
on their return from some brief excursion.
It seemed natural enough that the gardener should be
filled with exuberant delight at the return of so gracious
a master and mistress — and how strangely childlike they
looked! I could have taken them for Sylvie and Bruno
— less natural that he should show it by such wild dances,
such crazy songs!
''He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Gree\:
Me loo\ed again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Wee\.
'The one thing I regret' he said,
'Is that it cannot speal{l' "
— least natural of all that the Vice-Warden and "my
THE MAGIC LOCKET 33I
Lady" should be standing close beside me, discussing an
open letter, which had just been handed to him by the
Professor, who stood, meekly waiting, a few yards off.
"If it were not for those two brats," I heard him mutter,
glancing savagely at Sylvie and Bruno, who were courte-
ously listening to the Gardener's song, "there would be
no difficulty whatever."
"Let's hear that bit of the letter again," said my Lady.
And the Vice-Warden read aloud: —
" — and we therefore entreat you graciously to accept
the Kingship, to which you have been unanimously elect-
ed by the Council of Elfland: and that you will allow
your son Bruno — of whose goodness, cleverness, and
beauty, reports have reached us — to be regarded as Heir-
Apparent."
"But what's the difficulty?" said my Lady.
"Why, don't you see? The Ambassador, that brought
this, is waiting in the house: and he's sure to see Sylvie
and Bruno : and then, when he sees Uggug, and remem-
bers all that about ^goodness, cleverness, and beauty,' why,
he's sure to — "
"And where will you find a better boy than Uggug?''
my Lady indignantly interrupted. "Or a wittier, or a
lovelier?"
To all of which the Vice-Warden simply replied "Don't
you be a great blethering goose! Our only chance is to
keep those two brats out of sight. If you can manage that^
you may leave the rest to me. I'll make him believe Uggug
to be a model of cleverness and all that."
"We must change his name to Bruno, of course?" said
my Lady.
The Vice-Warden rubbed his chin. "Humph! No!" he
said musingly. "Wouldn't do. The boy's such an utter
idiot, he'd never learn to answer to it."
332 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
''Idiot, indeed!" cried my Lady. "He's no more an idiot
than / am!"
"You're right, my dear," the Vice-Warden soothingly
repUed. "He isn't, indeed!"
My Lady was appeased. "Let's go in and receive the
Ambassador," she said, and beckoned to the Professor.
"Which room is he waiting in?" she inquired.
"In the Library, Madam."
"And what did you say his name was?" said the Vice-
Warden.
The Professor referred to a card he held in his hand.
"His Adiposity the Baron Doppelgeist."
"Why does he come with such a funny name?" said
my Lady.
"He couldn't well change it on the journey," the Pro-
fessor meekly replied, "because of the luggage."
"You go and receive him," my Lady said to the Vice-
Warden, "and ril attend to the children."
Chapter VII
The Baron's Embassy
I WAS following the Vice- Warden, but, on second
thoughts, went after my Lady, being curious to see how
she would manage to keep the children out of sight.
I found her holding Sylvie's hand, and with her other
hand stroking Bruno's hair in a most tender and motherly
fashion : both children were looking bewildered and half-
frightened.
"My own darlings," she was saying, "I've been planning
a little treat for you! The Professor shall take you a long
THE BARON S EMBASSY 333
walk into the woods this beautiful evening : and you shall
take a basket of food with you, and have a little picnic
down by the river!"
Bruno jumped, and clapped his hands. "That are nice!"
he cried. "Aren't it, Sylvie?"
Sylvie, who hadn't quite lost her surprised look, put up
her mouth for a kiss. "Thank you very much," she said
earnestly.
My Lady turned her head away to conceal the broad
grin of triumph that spread over her vast face, like a
ripple on a lake. "Little simpletons!" she muttered to her-
self, as she marched up to the house. I followed her in.
"Quite so, your Excellency," the Baron v/as saying as
we entered the Library. "All the infantry were under my
command." He turned, and was duly presented to my
Lady.
"A military hero?" said my Lady. The fat little man
simpered. "Well, yes," he replied, modestly casting down
his eyes. "My ancestors were all famous for military
genius."
My Lady smiled graciously. "It often runs in families,"
she remarked: "just as a love for pastry does."
The Baron looked slightly offended, and the Vice-
Warden discreetly changed the subject. "Dinner will
soon be ready," he said. "May I have the honour of con-
ducting your Adiposity to the guest-chamber?"
"Certainly, certainly!" the Baron eagerly assented. "It
would never do to keep dinner waiting!" And he almost
trotted out of the room after the Vice-Warden.
He was back again so speedily that the Vice-Warden
had barely time to explain to my Lady that her remark
about "a love for pastry" was "unfortunate. You might
have seen, with half an eye," he added, "that that's his
line. Military genius, indeed! Pooh!"
334 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Dinner ready yet?" the Baron enquired, as he hurried
into the room.
"Will be in a few minutes," the Vice- Warden replied.
"Meanwhile, let's take a turn in the garden. You were
telling me," he continued, as the trio left the house,
"something about a great battle in which you had the
command of the infantry — "
"True," said the Baron. "The enemy, as I was saying,
far outnumbered us: but I marched my men right into
the middle of — what's that?" the Military Hero exclaimed
in agitated tones, drawing back behind the Vice-Warden,
as a strange creature rushed wildly upon them, brandish-
ing a spade.
"It's only the Gardener!" the Vice-Warden replied in
an encouraging tone. "Quite harmless, I assure you. Hark,
he's singing! It's his favorite amusement."
And once more those shrill discordant tones rang
out : —
''He thought he saw a Ban\ers Cler\
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus:
'If this should stay to dine' he said,
'There wont be much for us!' "
Throwing away the spade, he broke into a frantic jig,
snapping his fingers, and repeating, again and again
"There wont be much for us!
There wont be much for us!"
Once more the Baron looked slightly offended, but
the Vice-Warden hastily explained that the song had no
allusion to him^ and in fact had no meaning at all. "You
THE BARON S EMBASSY 335
didn't mean anything by it, now did you?" He appealed
to the Gardener, who had finished his song, and stood,
balancing himself on one leg, and looking at them, with
his mouth open.
"I never means nothing," said the Gardener: and Ug-
gug luckily came up at the moment, and gave the con-
versation a new turn.
"Allow me to present my son," said the Vice-Warden;
adding, in a whisper, "one of the best and cleverest boys
that ever lived! I'll contrive for you to see some of his
cleverness. He knows everything that other boys dont
know; and in archery, in fishing, in painting, and in
music, his skill is — but you shall judge for yourself. You
see that target over there? He shall shoot an arrow at it.
Dear boy," he went on aloud, "his Adiposity would like
to see you shoot. Bring his Highness' bow and arrows!"
Uggug looked very sulky as he received the bow and
arrow, and prepared to shoot. Just as the arrow left the
bow, the Vice-Warden trod heavily on the toe of the
Baron, who yelled with the pain.
"Ten thousand pardons!" he exclaimed. "I stepped
back in my excitement. Seel It is a bull's-eye!"
The Baron gazed in astonishment. "He held the bow
so awkwardly, it seemed impossible!" he muttered. But
there was no room for doubt: there was the arrow, right
in the centre of the bull's-eye!
"The lake is close by," continued the Vice-Warden.
"Bring his Highness' fishing-rod!" And Uggug most un-
willingly held the rod, and dangled the fly over the water.
"A beetle on your arm!" cried my Lady, pinching the
poor Baron's arm worse than if ten lobsters had seized
it at once. ''TJiat kind is poisonous," she explained. "But
what a pity! You missed seeing the fish pulled out!"
336 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
An enormous dead cod-fish was lying on the bank, with
the hook in its mouth.
"I had always fancied/' the Baron faltered, "that cod
were ^^//-water fish?"
"Not in this country," said the Vice- Warden. "Shall
we go in? Ask my son some question on the way — any
subject you like!" And the sulky boy was violently shoved
forwards to walk at the Baron's side.
"Could your Highness tell me," the Baron cautiously
began, "how much seven times nine would come to?"
"Turn to the left!" cried the Vice-Warden, hastily step-
ping forwards to show the way — so hastily, that he ran
against his unfortunate guest, who fell heavily on his
face.
''So sorry!" my Lady exclaimed, as she and her hus-
band helped him to his feet again. "My son was in the
act of saying 'sixty-three' as you fell!"
The Baron said nothing: he was covered with dust,
and seemed much hurt, both in body and mind. However,
when they had got him into the house, and given him a
good brushing, matters looked a little better.
Dinner was served in due course, and every fresh dish
seemed to increase the good-humour of the Baron: but
all efforts, to get him to express his opinion as to Uggug's
cleverness, were in vain, until that interesting youth had
left the room, and was seen from the open window,
prowling about the lawn with a little basket, which he
was filling with frogs.
"So fond of Natural History as he is, dear boy!" said
the doting mother. "Now do tell us. Baron, what you
think of him!"
"To be perfectly candid," said the cautious Baron, "I
would like a little more evidence. I think vou mentioned
his skill in — "
THE BARON S EMBASSY 337
"Music?" said the Vice-Warden. "Why, he's simply a
prodigy! You shall hear him play the piano." And he
walked to the window. "Ug — I mean my boy! Come in
for a minute, and bring the music-master with you! To
turn over the music for him," he added as an explana-
tion.
Uggug, having filled his basket with frogs, had no ob-
jection to obey, and soon appeared in the room, followed
by a fierce-looking little man, who asked the Vice-
Warden "Vot music vill you haf ?"
"The Sonata that His Highness plays so charmingly,"
said the Vice-Warden.
"His Highness haf not — " the music-master began, but
was sharply stopped by the Vice-Warden.
"Silence, Sir! Go and turn over the music for his High-
ness. My dear," (to the Wardeness) "will you show him
what to do? And meanwhile. Baron, FU just show you
a most interesting map we have — of Outland, and Fairy-
land, and that sort of thing."
By the time my Lady had returned, from explaining
things to the music-master, the map had been hung up,
and the Baron was already much bewildered by the Vice-
Warden's habit of pointing to one place while he shouted
out the name of another.
My Lady joining in, pointing out other places, and
shouting other names, only made matters worse; and at
last the Baron, in despair, took to pointing out places
for himself, and feebly asked "Is that great yellow splotch
Fairyland?''
"Yes, that's Fairyland," said the Vice-Warden: "and
you might as well give him a hint," he muttered to my
Lady, "about going back to-morrow. He eats like a shark!
It would hardly do for me to mention it."
His wife caught the idea, and at once began giving
338 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
hints of the most subtle and deUcate kind. "J^st see what
a short way it is back to Fairyland! Why, if you started
to-morrow morning, you'd get there in very little more
than a week!"
The Baron looked incredulous. "It took me a full
month to come^' he said.
"But it's ever so much shorter, going bac\^ you know!"
The Baron looked appealingly to the Vice-Warden,
who chimed in readily. "You can go back five times, in
the time it took you to come here once — if you start to-
morrow morning!"
All this time the Sonata was pealing through the room.
The Baron could not help admitting to himself that it
was being magnificently played: but he tried in vain to
get a glimpse of the youthful performer. Every time he
had nearly succeeded in catching sight of him, either the
Vice-Warden or his wife was sure to get in the way,
pointing out some new place on the map, and deafening
him with some new name.
He gave in at last, wished a hasty good-night, and left
the room, while his host and hostess interchanged looks
of triumph.
"Deftly done!" cried the Vice-Warden. "Craftily con-
trived! But what means all that tramping on the stairs?"
He half -opened the door, looked out, and added in a tone
of dismay, "The Baron's boxes are being carried down!"
"And what means all that rumbling of wheels?" cried
my Lady. She peeped through the window curtains. "The
Baron's carriage has come round!" she groaned.
At this moment the door opened: a fat, furious face
looked in: a voice, hoarse with passion, thundered out
the words "My room is full of frogs — I leave you!": and
the door closed again.
And still the noble Sonata went pealing through the
A RIDE ON A LION 339
room: but it was Arthur s masterly touch that roused the
echoes, and thrilled my very soul with the tender music
of the immortal "Sonata Pathetique" : and it was not till
the last note had died away that the tired but happy
traveler could bring himself to utter the words "good-
night!" and to seek his much-needed pillow.
Chapter VIII
A Ride on a Lion
The next day glided away, pleasantly enough, partly
in settling myself in my new quarters, and partly in
strolling round the neighbourhood, under Arthur's guid-
ance, and trying to form a general idea of Elveston and
its inhabitants. When five o'clock arrived, Arthur pro-
posed— without any embarrassment this time — to take me
with him up to "the Hall," in order that I might make
acquaintance with the Earl of Ainslie, who had taken it
for the season, and renew acquaintance with his daughter
Lady Muriel.
My first impressions of the gentle, dignified, and yet
genial old man were entirely favourable: and the real
satisfaction that showed itself on his daughter's face, as
she met me with the words "this is indeed an unlooked-
for pleasure!", was very soothing for whatever remains
of personal vanity the failures and disappointments of
many long years, and much buffeting with a rough world,
had left in me.
Yet I noted, and was glad to note, evidence of a far
deeper feeling than mere friendly regard, in her meeting
with Arthur — though this was, as I gathered, an almost
340 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
daily occurrence — and the conversation between them, in
which the Earl and I were only occasional sharers, had
an ease and a spontaneity rarely met with except between
very old friends : and, as I knew that they had not known
each other for a longer period than the summer which
was now rounding into autumn, I felt certain that "Love,''
and Love alone, could explain the phenomenon.
"How convenient it would be," Lady Muriel laughing-
ly remarked, a propos of my having insisted on saving her
the trouble of carrying a cup of tea across the room to
the Earl, "if cups of tea had no weight at all! Then per-
haps ladies would sometimes be permitted to carry them
for short distances!"
"One can easily imagine a situation," said Arthur,
"where things would necessarily have no weight, rela-
tively to each other, though each would have its usual
weight, looked at by itself."
"Some desperate paradox!" said the Earl. "Tell us how
it could be. We shall never guess it."
"Well, suppose this house, just as it is, placed a few
billion miles above a planet, and with nothing else near
enough to disturb it : of course it falls to the planet ? "
The Earl nodded. "Of course — though it might take
some centuries to do it."
"And is five-o'clock-tea to be going on all the while?"
said Lady Muriel.
"That, and other things," said Arthur. "The inhabi-
tants would live their lives, grow up and die, and still
the house would be falling, falling, falling! But now as to
the relative weight of things. Nothing can be heavy ^ you
know, except by trying to fall, and being prevented from
doing so. You all grant that.f^"
We all granted that.
"Well, now, if I take this book, and hold it out at
A RIDE ON A LION 34I
arm's length, o£ course I feel its weight. It is trying to fall,
and I prevent it. And, if I let go, it falls to the floor. But,
if we were all falling together, it couldn't be trying to fall
any quicker, you know : for, if I let go, what more could
it do than fall ? And, as my hand would be falling too —
at the same rate — it would never leave it, for that would
be to get ahead of it in the race. And it could never over-
take the falling floor!"
"I see it clearly," said Lady Muriel. "But it makes one
dizzy to think of such things! How can you make us
do it?"
"There is a more curious idea yet," I ventured to say.
"Suppose a cord fastened to the house, from below, and
pulled down by some one on the planet. Then of course
the house goes faster than its natural rate of falling: but
the furniture — with our noble selves — would go on falling
at their old pace, and would therefore be left behind."
"Practically, we should rise to the ceiling," said the
Earl. "The inevitable result of which would be concus-
sion of brain."
"To avoid that," said Arthur, "let us have the furniture
fixed to the floor, and ourselves tied down to the furniture.
Then the five-o'clock-tea could go on in peace."
"With one little drawback!" Lady Muriel gaily inter-
rupted. "We should take the cups down with us: but
what about the tea?''
"I had forgotten the tea^'' Arthur confessed. ''That, no
doubt, would rise to the ceiling — unless you chose to drink
it on the way!"
"Which, I think, is quite nonsense enough for one
while!" said the Earl. "What news does this gentleman
bring us from the great world of London?"
This drew me into the conversation, which now took
a more conventional tone. After a while, Arthur gave the
342 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
signal for our departure, and in the cool of the evening
we strolled down to the beach, enjoying the silence, bro-
ken only by the murmur of the sea and the far-away mu-
sic of some fishermen's song, almost as much as our late
pleasant talk.
We sat down among the rocks, by a little pool, so rich
in animal, vegetable, and zoophytic — or whatever is the
right word — life, that I became entranced in the study of
it, and, when Arthur proposed returning to our lodgings,
I begged to be left there for a while, to watch and muse
alone.
The fishermen's song grew ever nearer and clearer, as
their boat stood in for the beach; and I would have gone
down to see them land their cargo of fish, had not the
microcosm at my feet stirred my curiosity yet more
keenly.
One ancient crab, that was for ever shuffling frantically
from side to side of the pool, had particularly fascinated
me : there was a vacancy in its stare, and an aimless viol-
ence in its behaviour, that irresistibly recalled the Gar-
dener who had befriended Sylvie and Bruno: and, as I
gazed, I caught the concluding notes of the tune of his
crazy song.
The silence that followed was broken by the sweet voice
of Sylvie. "Would you please let us out into the road?"
"What! After that old beggar again?" the Gardener
yelled, and began singing: —
"He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That wor\ed a co'Qee-mill:
He loo\ed again, and found it was
A Vegetable 'Fill.
'Were I to swallow this/ he said,
7 should be very illl' "
A RIDE ON A LION 343
"We don't want him to swallow anything^'' Sylvie ex-
plained. "He's not hungry. But we want to see him. So
will you please — "
"Certainly!" the Gardener promptly replied. "I always
please. Never displeases nobody. There you are!" And he
flung the door open, and let us out upon the dusty high-
road.
We soon found our way to the bush, which had so
mysteriously sunk into the ground : and here Sylvie drew
the Magic Locket from its hiding-place, turned it over
with a thoughtful air, and at last appealed to Bruno in a
rather helpless way. "What was it we had to do with it,
Bruno? It's all gone out of my head!"
"Kiss it!" was Bruno's invariable recipe in cases of
doubt and difficulty. Sylvie kissed it, but no result fol-
lowed.
"Rub it the wrong way," was Bruno's next suggestion.
"Which is the wrong way?" Sylvie most reasonably
enquired. The obvious plan was to try both ways.
Rubbing from left to right had no visible eflfect what^
ever.
From right to left — "Oh, stop, Sylvie!" Bruno cried in
sudden alarm. "Whatever is going to happen?"
For a number of trees, on the neighbouring hillside^
were moving slowly upwards, in solemn procession:
while a mild little brook, that had been rippling at our
feet a moment before, began to swell, and foam, and hiss,
and bubble, in a truly alarming fashion.
"Rub it some other way!" cried Bruno. "Try up-and-
down! Quick!"
It was a happy thought. Up-and-down did it: and the
landscape, which had been showing signs of mental aber-
ration in various directions, returned to its normal con-
dition of sobriety — with the exception of a small yellow-
344 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
ish-brown mouse, which continued to run wildly up and
down the road, lashing its tail like a little lion.
"Let's follow it," said Sylvie: and this also turned out
a happy thought. The mouse at once settled down into a
business-like jog-trot, with which we could easily keep
pace. The only phenomenon, that gave me any uneasi-
ness, was the rapid increase in the size of the little crea-
ture we were following, which became every moment
more and more like a real lion.
Soon the transformation was complete: and a noble
lion stood patiently waiting for us to come up with it.
No thought of fear seemed to occur to the children, who
patted and stroked it as if it had been a Shetland-pony.
"Help me up!" cried Bruno. And in another moment
Sylvie had lifted him upon the broad back of the gentle
beast, and seated herself behind him, pillion-fashion.
Bruno took a good handful of mane in each hand, and
made believe to guide this new kind of steed. "Gee-up!"
seemed quite sufficient by way of verbal direction: the
lion at once broke into an easy canter, and we soon found
ourselves in the depths of the forest. I say "^^," for I am
certain that / accompanied them — though how I managed
to keep up with a cantering lion I am wholly unable
to explain. But I was certainly one of the party when we
came upon an old beggar-man cutting sticks, at whose
feet the lion made a profound obeisance, Sylvie and Bruno
at the same moment dismounting, and leaping into the
arms of their father.
"From bad to worse!" the old man said to himself,
dreamily, when the children had finished their rather con-
fused account of the Ambassador's visit, gathered no
doubt from general report, as they had not seen him
themselves. "From bad to worse! That is their destiny. I
see it, but I cannot alter it. The selfishness of a mean and
A RIDE ON A LION 345
crafty man — the selfishness of an ambitious and silly
woman — the selfishness of a spiteful and loveless child —
all tend one way, from bad to worse! And you, my darl-
ings, must suffer it awhile, I fear. Yet, when things are
at their worst, you can come to me. I can do but little
as yet — "
Gathering up a handful of dust and scattering it in
the air, he slowly and solemnly pronounced some words
that sounded like a charm, the children looking on in
awe-struck silence: —
*'Let craft, ambition, spite,
Be quenched in Reason s night.
Till wea\ness turn to might.
Till what is dar\ be light,
Till what is wrong be right!"
The cloud of dust spread itself out through the air, as
if it were alive, forming curious shapes that were for
ever changing into others.
"It makes letters! It makes words!" Bruno whispered,
as he clung, half-frightened, to Sylvie. "Only I cant make
them out! Read them, Sylvie!"
"I'll try," Sylvie gravely replied. "Wait a minute — if
only I could see that word — "
"I should be very ill!" a discordant voice yelled in our
ears.
it t
Were I to swallow this! he said,
7 should be very illV "
Chapter IX
A Jester and a Bear
Yes, we were in the garden once more: and, to escape
that horrid discordant voice, we hurried indoors, and
found ourselves in the hbrary — Uggug blubbering, the
Professor standing by with a bewildered air, and my
Lady, with her arms clasped round her son's neck, re-
peating, over and over again, "and did they give him
nasty lessons to learn? My own pretty pet!"
"What's all this noise about?" the Vice- Warden angrily
enquired, as he strode into the room. "And who put the
hat-stand here?" And he hung his hat up on Bruno, who
was standing in the middle of the room, too much
astonished by the sudden change of scene to make any
attempt at removing it, though it came down to his
shoulders, making him look something like a small
candle with a large extinguisher over it.
The Professor mildly explained that His Highness had
been graciously pleased to say he wouldn't do his lessons.
"Do your lessons this instant, you young cub!"
thundered the Vice-Warden. "And take thisT and a re-
sounding box on the ear made the unfortunate Professor
reel across the room.
"Save me!" faltered the poor old man, as he sank, half-
fainting, at my Lady's feet.
"Shave you? Of course I will!" my Lady replied, as she
lifted him into a chair, and pinned an anti-macassar round
his neck. "Where's the razor?"
The Vice-Warden meanwhile had got hold of Uggug,
and was belabouring him with his umbrella. "Who left
this loose nail in the floor?" he shouted. "Hammer it in,
346
A JESTER AND A BEAR 347
I say! Hammer it in!" Blow after blow fell on the writh-
ing Uggug, till he dropped howling to the floor.
Then his father turned to the "shaving" scene which
was being enacted, and roared with laughter. "Excuse me,
dear, I ca'n't help it!" he said as soon as he could speak.
"You are such an utter donkey! Kiss me, Tabby!"
And he flung his arms round the neck of the terrified
Professor, who raised a wild shriek, but whether he re-
ceived the threatened kiss or not I was unable to see, as
Bruno, who had bv this time released himself from his
extinguisher, rushed headlong out of the room, followed
by Sylvie; and I was so fearful of being left alone among
all these crazy creatures that I hurried after them.
"We must go to Father!" Sylvie panted, as they ran
down the garden. "I'm sure things are at their worst! Til
ask the Gardener to let us out again."
"But we ca'n't wal\ all the way!" Bruno whimpered.
"How I wiss we had a coach-and-four, like Uncle!"
And, shrill and wild, rang through the air the familiar
voice : —
''He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
'Poor thing,' he said, 'poor silly thingi
It's waiting to be fed!' "
"No, I ca'n't let you out again!" he said, before the
children could speak. "The Vice-Warden gave it me, he
did, for letting you out last time! So be off with you!"
And, turning away from them, he began digging franti-
cally in the middle of a gravel-walk, singing, over and
over again,
348 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
" 'Poor thing' he said, 'poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!' ''
but in a more musical tone than the shrill screech in
which he had begun.
The music grew fuller and richer at every moment:
other manly voices joined in the refrain: and soon I heard
the heavy thud that told me the boat had touched the
beach, and the harsh grating of the shingle as the men
dragged it up. I roused myself, and, after lending them
a hand in hauling up their boat, I lingered yet awhile to
watch them disembark a goodly assortment of the hard-
won "treasures of the deep."
When at last I reached our lodgings I was tired and
sleepy, and glad enough to settle down again into the
easy-chair, while Arthur hospitably went to his cupboard,
to get me out some cake and wine, without which, he
declared, he could not, as a doctor, permit my going to
bed.
And how that cupboard-door did creak! It surely could
not be Arthur^ who was opening and shutting it so often,
moving so restlessly about, and muttering like the solil-
oquy of a tragedy-queen!
No, it was a female voice. Also the figure — half-hidden
by the cupboard-door — was a female figure, massive, and
in flowing robes. Could it be the landlady? The door
opened, and a strange man entered the room.
"What is that donkey doing?" he said to himself, paus-
ing, aghast, on the threshold.
The lady, thus rudely referred to, was his wife. She
had got one of the cupboards open, and stood with her
back to him, smoothing down a sheet of brown paper
on one of the shelves, and whispering to herself "So, so!
Deftly done! Craftily contrived!"
A JESTER AND A BEAR 349
Her loving husband stole behind her on tip-toe, and
tapped her on the head. "Boh!" he playfully shouted at
her ear. "Never tell me again I ca'n't say 'boh' to a goose!"
My Lady wrung her hands. "Discovered!" she groaned
"Yet no — he is one of us! Reveal it not, oh Man! Let it
bide its time!"
"Reveal what not?" her husband testily replied, drag-
ging out the sheet of brown paper. "What are you hiding
here, my Lady? I insist upon knowing!"
My Lady cast down her eyes, and spoke in the littlest
of little voices. "Don't make fun of it, Benjamin!" she
pleaded. "It's — it's — don't you understand? It's a dagger!"
"And what's that for?" sneered His Excellency. "We've
only got to make people thin\ he's dead! We haven't got
to \ill him! And made of tin, too!" he snarled, con-
temptuously bending the blade round his thumb. Now,
Madam, you'll be good enough to explain. First, what
do you call me Benjamin for?"
"It's part of the Conspiracy, Love! One must have an
alias, you know — "
"Oh, an alias y is it? Well! And next, what did you get
this dagger for? Come, no evasions? You ca'n't deceive
mel
"I got it for — for — for — " the detected Conspirator
stammered, trying her best to put on the assassin-expres-
sion that she had been practising at the looking-glass.
"For—"
"For what^ Madam!"
"Well, for eighteenpence, if you must know, dearest!
That's what I got it for, on my — "
"Now don't say your Word and Honour!" groaned
the other Conspirator. "Why, they aren't worth half the
money, put together!"
"On my birthday j' my Lady concluded in a meek whis-
350 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
per. "One must have a dagger, you know. It's part of
the—"
"Oh, don't talk of Conspiracies!" her husband savagely
interrupted, as he tossed the dagger into the cupboard.
"You know about as much how to manage a Conspiracy
as if you were a chicken. Why, the first thing is to get
a disguise. Now, just look at this!"
And with pardonable pride he fitted on the cap and
bells, and the rest of the Fool's dress, and winked at her,
and put his tongue in his cheek. "Is that the sort of thing,
now?" he demanded.
My Lady's eyes flashed with all a Conspirator's en-
thusiasm. "The very thing!" she exclaimed, clapping her
hands. "You do look, oh, such a perfect Fool!"
The Fool smiled a doubtful smile. He was not quite
clear whether it was a compliment or not, to express it
so plainly. "You mean a Jester? Yes, that's what I in-
tended. And what do you think your disguise is to be?"
And he proceeded to unfold the parcel, the lady watching
him in rapture.
"Oh, how lovely!" she cried, when at last the dress was
unfolded. "What a splendid disguise! An Esquimaux
peasant- woman ! "
"An Esquimaux peasant, indeed!" growled the other.
"Here, put it on, and look at yourself in the glass. Why,
it's a Bear^ ca'n't you use your eyes?" He checked him-
self suddenly, as a harsh voice yelled through the room
ti
He loo\ed again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head!"
But it was only the Gardener, singing under the open
window. The Vice-Warden stole on tip-toe to the win-
dow, and closed it noiselessly, before he ventured to go
A JESTER AND A BEAR 35I
on. "Yes, Lovey, a Bear: but not without a head, I hope!
You're the Bear, and me the Keeper. And if any one
knows us, they'll have sharp eyes, that's all!"
"I shall have to practise the steps a bit," my Lady said,
looking out through the Bear's mouth: "one ca'n't help
being rather human just at first, you know. And of course
you'll say, 'Come up. Bruin!', won't you?"
"Yes, of course," replied the Keeper, laying hold of the
chain, that hung from the Bear's collar, with one hand,
while with the other he cracked a little whip. "Now go
round the room in a sort of a dancing attitude. Very
good, my dear, very good. Come up, Bruin! Come up,
I say!"
He roared out the last words for the benefit of Uggug,
was had just come into the room, and was now standing,
with his hands spread out, and eyes and mouth wide
open, the very picture of stupid amazement. "Oh, my!"
was all he could gasp out.
The Keeper pretended to be adjusting the bear's collar,
which gave him an opportunity of whispering, unheard
by Uggug, "my fault, I'm afraid! Quite forgot to fasten
the door. Plot's ruined if he finds it out! Keep it up a
minute or two longer. Be savage!" Then, while seeming
to pull it back with all his strength, he let it advance
upon the scared boy: my Lady, with admirable presence
of mind, kept up what she no doubt intended for a
savage growl, though it was more like the purring of a
cat: and Uggug backed out of the room with such haste
that he tripped over the mat, and was heard to fall heavily
outside — an accident to which even his doting mother
paid no heed, in the excitement of the moment.
The Vice-Warden shut and bolted the door. "Off with
the disguises!" he panted. "There's not a moment to lose.
He's sure to fetch the Professor, and we couldn't take
35^ SYLVIE AND BRUNO
him in, you know!" And in another minute the disguises
were stowed away in the cupboard, the door unbolted,
and the two Conspirators seated lovingly side-by-side on
the sofa, earnestly discussing a book the Vice-Warden had
hastily snatched oflf the table, which proved to be the
City-Directory of the capital of Outland.
The door opened, very slowly and cautiously, and the
Professor peeped in, Uggug's stupid face being just visible
behind him.
"It is a beautiful arrangement!" the Vice-Warden was
saying with enthusiasm. "You see, my precious one, that
there are fifteen houses in Green Street, before you turn
into West Street."
''Fifteen houses! Is it possible?'' my Lady replied. "I
thought it was fourteen!" And, so intent were they on
this interesting question, that neither of them even looked
up till the Professor, leading Uggug by the hand, stood
close before them.
My Lady was the first to notice their approach. "Why,
here's the Professor!" she exclaimed in her blandest tones.
"And my precious child too! Are lessons over?"
"A' strange thing has happened!" the Professor began
in a trembling tone. "His Exalted Fatness" (this was one
of Uggug's many titles) "tells me he has just seen, in
this very room, a Dancing-Bear and a Court-Jester!"
The Vice-Warden and his wife shook with well-acted
merriment.
"Not in this room, darling!" said the fond mother.
"We've been sitting here this hour or more, reading — ,"
here she referred to the book lying on her lap, " — reading
the — the City-Directory."
"Let me feel your pulse, my boy!" said the anxious
father. "Now put out your tongue. Ah, I thought so!
He's a little feverish. Professor, and has had a bad dream.
A JESTER AND A BEAR 353
Put him to bed at once, and give him a cooUng draught."
"I ain't been dreaming!" his Exalted Fatness remon-
strated, as the Professor led him away.
"Bad grammar, Sir!" his father remarked with some
sternness. "Kindly attend to that little matter. Professor,
as soon as you have corrected the feverishness. And, by
the way, Professor!" (The Professor left his distinguished
pupil standing at the door, and meekly returned.) "There
is a rumour afloat, that the people wish to elect an — in
point of fact, an — you understand that I mean an — "
"Not another Professor!'' the poor old man exclaimed
in horror.
"No! Certainly not!" the Vice- Warden eagerly explain-
ed. "Merely an Emperor, you understand."
"An Emperor!'' cried the astonished Professor, holding
his head between his hands, as if he expected it to come
to pieces with the shock. "What will the Warden — "
"Why, the Warden will most likely be the new Em-
peror!" my Lady explained. "Where could we find a
better? Unless, perhaps — " she glanced at her husband.
"Where, indeed!" the Professor fervently responded,
quite failing to take the hint.
The Vice-Warden resumed the thread of his discourse.
"The reason I mentioned it, Professor, was to ask you to
be so kind as to preside at the Election. You see it would
make the thing respectable — no suspicion of anything
underhand — "
"I fear I ca'n't, your Excellency!" the old man faltered.
"What will the Warden—"
"True, true!" the Vice-Warden interrupted. "Your posi-
tion, as Court-Professor, makes it awkward, I admit.
Well, well! Then the Election shall be held without you."
"Better so, than if it were held within me!" the Pro-
fessor murmured with a bewildered air, as if he hardly
354 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
knew what he was saying. "Bed, I think your Highness
said, and a coohng-draught ? " And he wandered dream-
ily back to where Uggug sulkily awaited him.
I followed them out of the room, and down the pas-
sage, the Professor murmuring to himself, all the time,
as a kind of aid to his feeble memory, "C, C, C; Couch,
Cooling-Draught, Correct-Grammar," till, in turning a
corner, he met Sylvie and Bruno, so suddenly that the
startled Professor let go of his fat pupil, who instantly
took to his heels.
Chapter X
The Other Professor
*'We were looking for you!" cried Sylvie, in a tone of
great relief. "We do want you so much, you ca'n't think!"
"What is it, dear children?" the Professor asked, beam-
ing on them with a very different look from what Uggug
ever got from him.
"We want you to speak to the Gardener for us," Sylvie
said, as she and Bruno took the old man's hands and led
him into the hall. ^
"He's ever so unkind!" Bruno mournfully added.
"They's all unkind to us, now that Father's gone. The
Lion were much nicer!"
"But you must explain to me, please," the Professor
said with an anxious look, ''which is the Lion, and which
is the Gardener. It's most important not to get two such
animals confused together. And one's very liable to do
it in their case — both having mouths, you know — "
THE OTHER PROFESSOR 355
"Doos oo always confuses two animals together?"
Bruno asked.
"Pretty often, I'm afraid/' the Professor candidly con-
fessed. "Now, for instance, there's the rabbit-hutch and
the hall-clock." The Professor pointed them out. "One
gets a little confused with them — both having doors, you
know. Now, only yesterday — would you believe it? — I
put some lettuces into the clock, and tried to wind up
the rabbit!"
"Did the rabbit go, after oo wounded it up?" said
Bruno.
The Professor clasped his hands on the top of his head,
and groaned. "Go? I should think it did go! Why, it's
gone! And where ever it's gone to — that's what I ca'n't
find out! I've done my best — I've read all the article
*Rabbit' in the great dictionary — Come in!"
"Only the tailor, Sir, with your little bill," said a meek
voice outside the door.
"Ah, well, I can soon settle his business," the Profes-
sor said to the children, "if you'll just wait a minute. How
much is it, this year, my man?" The tailor had come in
while he was speaking.
"Well, it's been a doubling so many years, you see,"
the tailor replied, a little gruffly, "and I think I'd like the
money now. It's two thousand pound, it is!"
"Oh, that's nothing!" the Professor carelessly remarked,
feeling in his pocket, as if he always carried at least that
amount about with him. "But wouldn't you like to wait
just another year, and make it four thousand? Just think
how rich you'd be! Why, you might be a King, if you
liked!"
"I don't know as I'd care about being a King,'' the man
said thoughtfully. "But it dew sound a powerful sight o'
money! Well, I think I'll wait — "
356 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Of course you will!" said the Professor. "There's good
sense in you^ I see. Good-day to you, my man!"
"Will you ever have to pay him that four thousand
pounds?" Sylvie asked as the door closed on the depart-
ing creditor.
'''Never^ my child!" the Professor replied emphatically.
"He'll go on doubling it, till he dies. You see it's always
worth while waiting another year, to get twice as much
money! And now what would you like to do, my little
friends ? Shall I take you to see the Other Professor ? This
would be an excellent opportunity for a visit, he said to
himself, glancing at his watch : "he generally takes a short
rest — of fourteen minutes and a half — about this time."
Bruno hastily went round to Sylvie, who was standing
at the other side of the Professor, and put his hand into
hers. "I thin\s we'd like to go," he said doubtfully: "only
please let's go all together. It's best to be on the safe side,
00 know!"
"Why, you talk as if you were SylvieT exclaimed the
Professor.
"I know I did," Bruno replied very humbly. "I quite
forgotted I wasn't Sylvie. Only I fought he might be
rarver fierce!"
The Professor laughed a jolly laugh. "Oh, he's quite
tame!" he said. "He never bites. He's only a little — a little
dreamy^ you know." He took hold of Bruno's other hand,
and led the children down a long passage I had never
noticed before — not that there was anything remarkable
in that: I was constantly coming on new rooms and pas-
sages in that mysterious Palace, and very seldom suc-
ceeded in finding the old ones again.
Near the end of the passage the Professor stopped.
"This is his room," he said, pointing to the solid wall.
"We ca'n't get in through therer Bruno exclaimed.
THE OTHER PROFESSOR 357
Sylvie said nothing, till she had carefully examined
whether the wall opened anywhere. Then she laughed
merrily. "You're playing us a trick, you dear old thing!"
she said. "There's no door here!"
"There isn't any door to the room," said the Professor.
"We shall have to climb in at the window."
So we went into the garden, and soon found the win-
dow of the Other Professor's room. It was a ground-floor
window, and stood invitingly open: the Professor first
lifted the two children in, and then he and I climbed in
after them.
The Other Professor was seated at a table, with a large
book open before him, on which his forehead was rest-
ing: he had clasped his arms round the book, and was
snoring heavily. "He usually reads like that," the Profes-
sor remarked, "when the book's very interesting: and then
sometimes it's very difficult to get him to attend!"
This seemed to be one of the difficult times: the Pro-
fessor lifted him up, once or twice, and shook him violent-
ly: but he always returned to his book the moment he
was let go of, and showed by his heavy breathing that
the book was as interesting as ever.
"How dreamy he is!" the Professor exclaimed. "He
must have got to a very interesting part of the book!" And
he rained quite a shower of thumps on the Other Pro-
fessor's back, shouting "Hoy! Hoy!" all the time. "Isn't it
wonderful that he should be so dreamy?" he said to
Bruno.
"If he's always as sleepy as that," Bruno remarked, "a
course he's dreamy!"
"But what are we to do?'' said the Professor." You see
he's quite wrapped up in the book!"
"Suppose oo shuts the book?" Bruno suggested.
"That's it!" cried the delighted Professor. "Of course
358 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
that'll do it!" And he shut up the book so quickly that
he caught the Other Professor's nose between the leaves,
and gave it a severe pinch. ^
The Other Professor instantly rose to his feet, and car-
ried the book away to the end of the room, where he put
it back in its place in the book-case. "I've been reading
for eighteen hours and three-quarters," he said, "and now
I shall rest for fourteen minutes and a half. Is the Lec-
ture all ready .f^"
"Very nearly," the Professor humbly replied. "I shall
ask you to give me a hint or two — there will be a few
little difficulties — "
"And a Banquet, I think you said?"
"Oh, yes! The Banquet comes first, of course. People
never enjoy Abstract Science, you know, when they're
ravenous with hunger. And then there's the Fancy-Dress-
Ball. Oh, there'll be lots of entertainment!"
"Where will the Ball come in?" said the Other Pro-
fessor.
"I thin\ it had better come at the beginning of the
Banquet — it brings people together so nicely, you know."
"Yes, that's the right order. First the Meeting: then the
Eating: then the Treating — for I'm sure any Lecture you
give us will be a treat!" said the Other Professor, who
had been standing with his back to us all this time, oc-
cupying himself in taking the books out, one by one, and
turning them upside-down. An easel, with a black board
on it, stood near him: and, every time that he turned a
book upside-down, he made a mark on the board with a
piece of chalk.
"And as to the Tig-Tale' — which you have so kindly
promised to give us — " the Professor went on, thought-
fully rubbing his chin. "I think that had better come at
THE OTHER PROFESSOR 359
the end of the Banquet: then people can Usten to it
quietly."
"Shall I sing it?" the Other Professor asked, with a
smile of delight.
"If you cany' the Professor replied, cautiously.
"Let me try," said the Other Professor, seating himself
at the pianoforte. "For the sake of argument, let us as-
sume that it begins on A flat." And he struck the note in
question. "La, la, la! I think that's within an octave of
it." He struck the note again, and appealed to Bruno,
who was standing at his side. "Did I sing it like that^ my
child?"
"No, 00 didn't," Bruno replied with great decision. "It
were more like a duck."
"Single notes are apt to have that eflEect," the Other
Professor said with a sigh. "Let me try a whole verse.
There was a Pig, that sat alone,
Beside a ruined Pump.
By day and night he made his moan:
It would have stirred a heart of stone
To see him wring his hoofs and groan.
Because he could not jump.
Would you call that a tune, Professor?" he asked, when
he had finished.
The Professor considered a little. "Well/' he said at
last, "some of the notes are the same as others — and some
are different — but I should hardly call it a tuneT
"Let me try it a bit by myself," said the Other Profes-
sor. And he began touching the notes here and there,
and humming to himself like an angry bluebottle.
"How do you like his singing?" the Professor asked the
children in a low voice.
a-
<<-
360 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
It isn't very beautiful^' Sylvie said, hesitatingly.
It's very extremely ugly!'' Bruno said, without any
hesitation at all.
All extremes are bad," the Professor said, very gravely.
For instance. Sobriety is a very good thing, when prac-
tised in moderation: but even Sobriety, when carried to
an extreme^ has its disadvantages."
"What are its disadvantages?" was the question that
rose in my mind — and, as usual, Bruno asked it for me.
"What are its lizard bandages?"
"Well, this is one of them," said the Professor. "When a
man's tipsy (that's one extreme, you know), he sees one
thing or two. But, when he's extremely sober (that's the
other extreme), he sees two things as one. It's equally in-
convenient, whichever happens."
"What does 'illconvenient' mean?" Bruno whispered to
Sylvie.
"The difference between 'convenient' and *inconven-
ient' is best explained by an example," said the Other Pro-
fessor, who had overheard the question. "If you'll just
think over any Poem that contains the two words — such
as—"
The Professor put his hands over his ears, with a look of
dismay. "If you once let him begin a Poem,'' he said to
Sylvie, "he'll never leave off again! He never does!"
"Did he ever begin a Poem and not leave of? again?"
Sylvie enquired.
"Three times," said the Professor.
Bruno raised himself on tiptoe, till his lips were on a
level with Sylvie's ear. "What became of them three
Poems?" he whispered. "Is he saying them all now?"
"Hush!" said Sylvie. "The Other Professor is speaking!"
"I'll say it very quick," murmured the Other Professor,
with downcast eyes, and melancholy voice, which con-
PETER AND PAUL 361
trasted oddly with his face, as he had forgotten to leave off
smiling. ("At least it wasn't exactly a smile^'' as Sylvie said
afterwards: "it looked as if his mouth was made that
shape.")
"Go on then/' said the Professor. '''What must be must
her
"Remember that!" Sylvie whispered to Bruno. "It's a
very good rule for whenever you hurt yourself."
"And it's a very good rule for whenever I make a
noise," said the saucy little fellow. "So you remember it
too, Miss!"
"Whatever do you mean?" said Sylvie, trying to frown,
a thing she never managed particularly well.
"Oftens and oftens," said Bruno, "haven't 00 told me
'There mustn't be so much noise, Bruno!' when I've told-
ed 00 *There must!' Why, there isn't no rules at all about
*There mustn't'! But 00 never believes meT
"As if any one could believe you, you wicked wicked
boy!" said Sylvie. The tuords were severe enough, but I
am of opinion that, when you are really anxious to im-
press a criminal with a sense of his guilt, you ought not to
pronounce the sentence with your lips quite close to his
cheek — since a kiss at the end of it, however accidental,
weakens the effect terribly.
Chapter XI
Peter and Paul
As I was saying," the Other Professor resumed, "if you'll
just think over any Poem, that contains the words — such
as
362 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
'Peter is poor/ said noble Paul,
* And I have always been his friend:
And, though my means to give are small,
At least 1 can afford to lend.
Hotv jew, in this cold age of greed,
Do good, except on selfish grounds!
But I can feel for Peter s need.
And I WILL LEND HIM FIFTY POUNDS!'
How great was Peter s joy to find
His friend in such a genial vein!
How cheerfully the bond he signed,
To pay the money bac\ again!
'We cant/ said Paul, 'be too precise:
'Tis best to fix the very day:
Sa, by a learned friend's advice,
I've made it Noon, the Fourth of May!
'But this is April!' Peter said.
'The First of April, as I thin\.
Five little wee\s will soon be fled:
One scarcely will have time to win\l
Give me a year to speculate —
To buy and sell — to drive a trade — '
Said Paul 7 cannot change the date.
On May the Fourth it must be paid.'
'Well, well!' said Peter, with a sigh.
'Hand me the cash, and I will go.
I'll form a ]oint-Stoc\ Company,
And turn an honest pound or so.'
'I'm grieved,' said Paul, 'to seem un\ind:
The money shall of course be lent:
But, for a wee\ or. two, I find
It will not be convenient.'
PETER AND PAUL 363
So, wee\ by wee\, poor Peter came
And turned in heaviness away;
For still the answer was the same,
7 cannot manage it to-day.'
And now the April showers were dry —
The five short wee\s were nearly spent —
Yet still he got the old reply,
'It is not quite convenientV
The Fourth arrived, and punctual Paul
Came, with his legal friend, at noon,
7 thought it best,' said he, *to call:
One cannot settle things too soon!
Poor Peter shuddered in despair:
His flowing locf^s he wildly tore:
And very soon his yellow hair
Was lying all about the floor.
The legal friend was standing by.
With sudden pity half unmanned:
The tear-drop trembled in his eye.
The signed agreement in his hand:
But when at length the legal soul
Resumed its customary force,
*The haw' he said, *we cant control:
Pay, or the haw must take its course!'
Said Paul 'How bitterly I rue
That fatal morning when I called!
Consider, Peter, what you do!
You won't be richer when you're bald!
Thinl{^ you, by rending curls away.
To ma\e your difficulties less?
Forbear this violence, I pray:
You do but add to my distress!'
364 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
*Not willingly would I inflict/
Said Peter, *on that noble heart
One needless pang. Yet why so strict?
Is this to act a friendly part?
However legal it may be
To pay what never has been lent.
This style of business seems to me
Extremely inconvenientl
*No Nobleness of soul have I,
Lil{e some that in this Age are found T
(Paul blushed in sheer humility,
And cast his eyes upon the ground.)
'This debt will simply swallow all,
And ma\e my life a life of woe!'
'Nay, nay, my Peter!' answered Paul,
'You must not rail on Fortune so!
'You have enough to eat and drin\:
You are respected in the world:
And at the barber s, as I thin\.
You often get your whis\ers curled.
Though Nobleness you cant attain —
To any very great extent —
The path of Honesty is plain,
However inconvenient!*
' 'Tis true,' said Peter, 'I'm. alive:
I \eep my station in the world:
Once in the wee\ I just contrive
To get my whis\ers oiled and curled.
But my assets are very low:
My little income's overspent:
To trench on capital, you }{now.
Is always inconvenient!'
PETER AND PAUL 365
'But pay your debts!' cried honest Paul,
'My gentle Peter, pay your debts!
What matter if it swallows all
That you describe as your ''assets*' ?
Already you re an hour behind:
Yet Generosity is best.
It pinches me — but never mind!
1 WILL NOT CHARGE YOU INTEREST!'
'How good! How great!' poor Peter cried,
'Yet I must sell my Sunday wig —
The scarf-pin that has been my pride —
My grand piano — and my pig!'
Full soon his property too\ wings:
And daily, as each treasure went,
He sighed to find the state of things
Grow less and less convenient,
Wee\s grew to months, and months to years:
Peter was worn to s\in and bone:
And once he even said, with tears,
'Remember, Paul, that promised Loan!'
Said Paul 'I'll lend you, when I can.
All the spare money I have got —
Ah, Peter, you're a happy man!
Yours is an enviable lot!
'I'm getting stout, as you may see:
It is but seldom I am well:
I cannot feel my ancient glee
In listening to the dinner-bell:
But you, you gambol li\e a boy,
Your figure is so spare and light:
The dinner-bell' s a note of joy
To such a healthy appetite!'
366 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Said Peter 7 am well aware
Mine is a state of happiness:
And yet how gladly could I spare
Some of the comforts I possess!
What you call healthy appetite
I feel as Hunger s savage tooth:
And, when no dinner is in sight,
The dinner-bell's a sound of rut hi
'No scare-crow would accept this coat:
Such boots as these you seldom, see,
Ah, Paul, a single five-pound-note
Would ma\e another man of me!'
Said Paul 'It fills me with surprise
To hear you tal\ in such a tone:
I fear you scarcely realise
The blessings that are all your own!
'You're safe from being overfed:
You're sweetly picturesque in rags:
You never \now the aching head
That comes along with money-bags:
And you have time to cultivate
That best of qualities, Content —
For which you'll find your present state
Remarkably convenient!'
Said Peter 'Though I cannot sound
The depths of such a man as you.
Yet in your character I've found
An inconsistency or two.
You seem to have long years to spare
When there's a promise to fulfil:
And yet how punctual you were
In calling with that little bill!'
PETER AND PAUL 367
*One cant be too deliberate'
Said Paul, 'in parting with one's pelf.
With bills, as you correctly state,
I'm punctuality itself.
A man may surely claim his dues:
But, when there's money to be lent,
A man must be allowed to choose
Such times as are convenientV
It chanced one day, as Peter sat
Gnawing a crust — his usual meal —
Paul bustled in to have a chat.
And grasped his hand with friendly zeal,
7 \new,' said he, 'your frugal ways:
So, that I might not wound your pride
By bringing strangers in to gaze,
I've left my legal friend outside!
'You well remember, I am sure.
When first your wealth began to go.
And people sneered at one so poor,
I never used my Peter sol
And when you'd lost your little all.
And found yourself a thing despised,
I need not as^ you to recall
How tenderly I sympathised!
'Then the advice I've poured on you,
So full of wisdom and of wit:
All given gratis, though 'tis true
I might have fairly charged for it!
But I refrain from mentioning
Full many a deed I might relate —
For boasting is a \ind of thing
That 1 particularly hate.
368 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
*How vast the total sum appears
Of all the \indnesses I've done,
From Childhood's half -for gotten years
Down to that Loan of April One!
That Fifty Pounds! You little guessed
How deep it drained my slender store:
But there's a heart within this breast,
And I WILL LEND YOU FIFTY MORE!'
'Not so,' was Peter's mild reply.
His chee\s all wet with grateful tears:
*No man recalls, so well as I,
Your services in bygone years:
And this new o^er, I admit,
Is very very \indly meant —
Still, to avail myself of it
Would not be quite convenient!'
"You'll see in a moment what the difference is between
'convenient' and 'inconvenient.' You quite understand it
now, don't you?" he added, looking kindly at Bruno, who
was sitting, at Sylvie's side, on the floor.
"Yes," said Bruno, very quietly. Such a short speech was
very unusual, for him: but just then he seemed, I fancied,
a little exhausted. In fact, he climbed up into Sylvie's lap
as he spoke, and rested his head against her shoulder.
"What a many verses it was!" he whispered.
Chapter XII
A Musical Gardener
The Other Professor regarded him with some anxiety.
"The smaller animal ought to go to bed at once,'' he said
with an air of authority.
"Why at once?'' said the Professor.
"Because he ca'n't go at twice," said the Other Pro-
fessor.
The Professor gently clapped his hands. "Isn't he won^
derful!" he said to Sylvie. "Nobody else could have
thought of the reason, so quick. Why, of course he ca'n't
go at twice! It would hurt him to be divided."
This remark woke up Bruno, suddenly and completely.
"I don't want to be divided^" he said decisively.
"It does very well on a diagram," said the Other Pro-
fessor. "I could show it you in a minute, only the chalk's a
little blunt."
"Take care!" Sylvie anxiously exclaimed, as he began,
rather clumsily, to point it. "You'll cut your finger off, if
you hold the knife so!"
"If 00 cuts it ojff, will oo give it to me, please?" Bruno
thoughtfully added.
"It's like this," said the Other Professor, hastily drawing
a long line upon the black board, and marking the letters
"y4," "jB," at the two ends, and "C" in the middle: "let me
explain it to you. If AB were to be divided into two parts
at C— "
"It would be drownded," Bruno pronounced confi-
dently.
The Other Professor gasped. ''What would be drown-
ded?"
369
370 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Why the bumble-bee, of course!" said Bruno. "And the
two bits would sink down in the sea!"
Here the Professor interfered, as the Other Professor
was evidently too much puzzled to go on with his dia-
gram.
"When I said it would hurt him, I was merely referring
to the action of the nerves — "
The Other Professor brightened up in a moment. "The
action of the nerves," he began eagerly, "is curiously slow
in some people. I had a friend, once, that if you burnt him
with a red-hot poker, it would take years and years before
he felt it!"
'And if you only pinched him?" queried Sylvie.
Then it would take ever so much longer, of course. In
fact, I doubt if the man himself would ever feel it, at all.
His grandchildren might."
"I wouldn't like to be the grandchild of a pinched
grandfather, would you^ Mister Sir?" Bruno whispered.
"It might come just when you wanted to be happy!"
That would be awkward, I admitted, taking it quite as
a matter of course that he had so suddenly caught sight of
me. "But don't you always want to be happy, Bruno?"
"Not always^'' Bruno said thoughtfully. "Sometimes,
when I's too happy, I wants to be a little miserable. Then
I just tell Sylvie about it, 00 know, and Sylvie sets me
some lessons. Then it's all right."
"I'm sorry you don't like lessons," I said. "You should
copy Sylvie. Shes always as busy as the day is long!"
"Well, so am IT said Bruno.
"No, no!" Sylvie corrected him. "You're as busy as the
day is short!''
"Well, what's the difference?" Bruno asked. "Mister
Sir, isn't the day as short as it's long? I mean, isn't it the
same length?"
A MUSICAL GARDENER 37I
Never having considered the question in this light, I
suggested that they had better ask the Professor; and they
ran off in a moment to appeal to their old friend. The
Professor left off polishing his spectacles to consider. "My
dears," he said after a minute, "the day is the same length
as anything that is the same length as itT And he resumed
his never-ending task of polishing.
The children returned, slowly and thoughtfully, to re-
port his answer. ''Isnt he wise?" Sylvie asked in an awe-
struck whisper. "If / was as wise as thaty I should have a
head-ache all day long. I \now I should!"
"You appear to be talking to somebody — that isn't
here," the Professor said, turning round to the children.-
"Who is it?"
Bruno looked puzzled. "I never talks to nobody when
he isn't here!" he replied. "It isn't good manners. Oo
should always wait till he comes, before 00 talks to him!"
The Professor looked anxiously in my direction, and
seemed to look through and through me without seeing
me. "Then who are you talking to?" he said. "There isn't
anybody here, you know, except the Other Professor — and
he isn't here!" he added wildly, turning round and round
like a teetotum. "Children! Help to look for him! Quick!
He's got lost again!"
The children were on their feet in a moment.
"Where shall we look ?" said Sylvie.
"Anywhere!" shouted the excited Professor. "Only be
quick about it!" And he began trotting round and round
the room, lifting up the chairs, and shaking them.
Bruno took a very small book out of the bookcase,
opened it, and shook it in imitation of the Professor. "He
isn't here^'' he said.
"He cant be there, Bruno!" Sylvie said indignantly.
372 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Course he ca'n't!" said Bruno. "I should have shooked
him out, if he'd been in there!"
"Has he ever been lost before?" Sylvie enquired, turn-
ing up a corner of the hearth-rug, and peeping under it.
"Once before," said the Professor: "he once lost himself
in a wood — "
"And couldn't he find his-self again?" said Bruno.
"Why didn't he shout? He'd be sure to hear his-self,
'cause he couldn't be far off, oo know."
"Let's try shouting," said the Professor.
"What shall we shout?" said Sylvie.
"On second thoughts, don't shout," the Professor re-
plied. "The Vice-Warden might hear you. He's getting
awfully strict!"
This reminded the poor children of all the troubles,
about which they had come to their old friend. Bruno sat
down on the floor and began crying. "He is so cruel!" he
sobbed. "And he lets Uggug take away all my toys! And
such horrid meals!"
"What did you have for dinner to-day?" said the Pro-
fessor.
"A little piece of a dead crow," was Bruno's mournful
reply.
"He means rook-pie," Sylvie explained.
"It were a dead crow," Bruno persisted. "And there
were a apple-pudding — and Uggug ate it all — and I got
nuffin but a crust! And I asked for a orange — and — didn't
get it!" And the poor little fellow buried his face in Syl-
vie's lap, who kept gently stroking his hair, as she went
on. "It's all true. Professor dear! They do treat my darling
Bruno very badly! And they're not kind to me either,"
she added in a lower tone, as if that were a thing of much
less importance.
The Professor got out a large red silk handkerchief, and
A MUSICAL GARDENER 373
wiped his eyes. "I wish I could help you, dear children!"
he said. "But what can I do?"
"We know the way to Fairyland — where Father's gone
— quite well," said Sylvie: "if only the Gardener would let
us out."
"Won't he open the door for you?" said the Professor.
"Not for ^i"," said Sylvie: "but I'm sure he would for
you. Do come and ask him, Professor dear!"
"I'll come this minute!" said the Professor.
Bruno sat up and dried his eyes. ''Isn't he kind, Mister
Sir?"
"He is indeed^'' said I. But the Professor took no notice
of my remark. He had put on a beautiful cap with a long
tassel, and was selecting one of the Other Professor's walk-
ing sticks, from a stand in the corner of the room. "A
thick stick in one's hand makes people respectful," he was
saying to himself. "Come along, dear children!" And we
all went out into the garden together.
"I shall address him, first of all," the Professor explained
as we went along, "with a few playful remarks on the
weather. I shall then question him about the Other Pro-
fessor. This will have a double advantage. First, it will
open the conversation (you can't even drink a bottle of
wine without opening it first) : and secondly, if he's seen
the Other Professor, we shall find him that way : and, if he
hasn't, we sha'n't."
On our way, we passed the target, at which Uggug had
been made to shoot during the Ambassador's visit.
"See!" said the Professor, pointing out a hole in the
middle of the bull's-eye. "His Imperial Fatness had only
one shot at it; and he went in just here!''
Bruno carefully examined the hole. "Couldn't go in
there,'' he whispered to me. "He are too fat!"
We had no sort of difficulty in finding the Gardener.
374 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Though he was hidden from us by some trees, that harsh
voice of his served to direct us; and, as we drew nearer,
the words of his song became more and more plainly
audible : —
*'He thought he saw an Albatross
That fluttered round the lamp:
He loo\ed again, and found it was
A Penny-Postage-Stamp.
'You'd best be getting home,' he said:
'The nights are very damp!' "
"Would it be afraid of catching cold?" said Bruno.
"If it got t^ery damp," Sylvie suggested, "it might stick
to something, you know."
"And that somefin would have to go by the post, what-
ever it was!" Bruno eagerly exclaimed. "Suppose it was a
cow! Wouldn't it be dreadful for the other things!"
"And all these things happened to him^'' said the Pro-
fessor. "That's what makes the song so interesting."
"He must have had a very curious life," said Sylvie.
"You may say that!" the Professor heartily rejoined.
"Of course she may!" cried Bruno.
By this time we had come up to the Gardener, who was
standing on one leg, as usual, and busily employed in
watering a bed of flowers with an empty watering-can.
"It hasn't got no water in it!" Bruno explained to him,
pulling his sleeve to attract his attention.
"It's Hghter to hold," said the Gardener. "A lot of water
in it makes one's arms ache." And he went on with his
work, singing softly to himself
''The nights are very dampl"
"In digging things out of the ground — which you prob-
ably do now and then," the Professor began in a loud
A MUSICAL GARDENER 375
voice; "in making things into heaps — which no doubt
you often do ; and in kicking things about with one heel —
which you seem never to leave off doing; have you ever
happened to notice another Professor, something like me,
but different?"
"Never!" shouted the Gardener, so loudly and violently
that we all drew back in alarm. "There ain't such a
thing!"
"We will try a less exciting topic," the Professor mildly
remarked to the children. "You were asking — "
"We asked him to let us through the garden-door," said
Sylvie: "but he wouldn't: but perhaps he would for youT
The Professor put the request, very humbly and cour-
teously.
"I wouldn't mind letting you out," said the Gardener.
"But I mustn't open the door for children. D'you think
I'd disobey the Rules? Not for one-and-sixpence!"
The Professor cautiously produced a couple of shillings.
"That'll do it!" the Gardener shouted, as he hurled the
watering-can across the flower-bed, and produced a hand-
ful of keys — one large one, and a number of small ones.
"But look here. Professor dear!" whispered Sylvie. "He
needn't open the door for us^ at all. We can go out with
you''
"True, dear child!" the Professor thankfully replied, as
he replaced the coins in his pocket. "That saves two shill-
ings!" And he took the children's hands, that they might
all go out together when the door was opened. This, how-
ever, did not seem a very likely event, though the Garden-
er patiently tried all the small keys, over and over again.
At last the Professor ventured on a gentle suggestion.
"Why not try the large one? I have often observed that a
door unlocks much more nicely with its own key."
The very first trial of the large key proved a success : the
376 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Gardener opened the door, and held out his hand for th^
money.
The Professor shook his head. "You are acting by Rule,''
he explained, "in opening the door for me. And now it's
open, we are going out by Rule — the Rule of Three!'
The Gardener looked puzzled, and let us go out; but,
as he locked the door behind us, we heard him singing
thoughtfully to himself
"He thought he saw a Garden-Door
That opened with a \ey:
He loo\ed again, and found it was
A Double Rule of Three:
* And all its mystery! he said,
*ls clear as day to me!' ''
"I shall now return," said the Professor, when we had
walked a few yards : "you see, it's impossible to read here^
for all my books are in the house."
But the children still kept fast hold of his hands. "Do
come with us!" Sylvie entreated with tears in her eyes.
"Well, well!" said the good-natured old man. "Perhaps
I'll come after you, some day soon. But I must go back,
now. You see I left off at a comma, and it's so awkward
not knowing how the sentence finishes! Besides, you've
got to go through Dogland first, and I'm always a little
nervous about dogs. But it'll be quite easy to come, as soon
as I've completed my new invention — for carrying one's-
self, you know. It wants just a little more workmg out."
"Won't that be very tiring, to carry yourself?'' Sylvie
enquired.
"Well, no, my child. You see, whatever fatigue one in-
curs by carrying, one saves by being carried! Good-bye
dears! Good-bye, Sir!" he added to my intense surprise,
giving my hand an aflfectionate squeeze.
A VISIT TO DOGLAND 377
"Good-bye Professor!" I replied: but my voice sounded'
strange and far away, and the children took not the slight-
est notice of our farewell. Evidently they neither saw me
nor heard me, as, with their arms lovingly twined round
each other, they marched boldly on.
Chapter XIII
A Visit to Dogland
"There's a house, away there to the left," said Sylvie
after we had walked what seemed to me about fifty miles.
"Let's go and ask for a night's lodging."
"It looks a very comfable house," Bruno said, as we
turned into the road leading up to it. "I doos hope the
Dogs will be kind to us, I is so tired and hungry!"
A Mastiff, dressed in a scarlet collar, and carrying a
musket, was pacing up and down, like a sentinel, in front
of the entrance. He started, on catching sight of the chil-
dren, and came forwards to meet them, keeping his mus-
ket pointed straight at Bruno, who stood quite still,
though he turned pale and kept tight hold of Sylvie's
hand, while the Sentinel walked solemnly round and
round them, and looked at them from all points of view.
"Oobooh, hooh boohooyah!" He growled at last. "Woo-
bah yahwah oobooh! Bow wahbah woobooyah? Bow
wow?" he asked Bruno, severely.
Of course Bruno understood all this, easily enough. All
Fairies understand Doggee — that is. Dog-language. But,,
as you may find it a little difficult, just at first, I had bet-
ter put it into English for you. "Humans, I verily believe!
A couple of stray Humans! What Dog do you belong to.^^
What do you want.^^"
378 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"We don't belong to a Dog!'' Bruno began, in Doggee.
("Peoples net/er belongs to Dogs!" he whispered to Syl-
vie.)
But Sylvie hastily checked him, for fear of hurting the
Mastiff's feelings. "Please, we want a little food, and a
night's lodging — if there's room in the house," she added
timidly. Sylvie spoke Doggee very prettily: but I think it's
almost better, for you, to give the conversation in Eng-
lish.
"The house, indeed!" growled the Sentinel. "Have you
never seen a Palace in your life? Come along with me!
His Majesty must settle what's to be done with you."
They followed him through the entrance-hall, down a
long passage, and into a magnificent Saloon, around
which were grouped dogs of all sorts and sizes. Two
splendid Blood-hounds were solemnly sitting up, one on
each side of the crown-bearer. Two or three Bull-dogs —
whom I guessed to be the Body-Guard of the King — were
waiting in grim silence : in fact the only voices at all plain-
ly audible were those of two little dogs, who had mounted
a settee, and were holding a lively discussion that looked
very like a quarrel.
"Lords and Ladies in Waiting, and various Court Of-
ficials," our guide gruffly remarked, as he led us in. Of
me the Courtiers took no notice whatever: but Sylvie and
Bruno were the subject of many inquisitive looks, and
many whispered remarks, of which I only distinctly
caught one — made by a sly-looking Dachshund to his
friend — "Bah wooh wahyah hoobah Oobooh, hah bah.f^"
("She's not such a bad-looking Human, is she?")
Leaving the new arrivals in the centre of the Saloon,
the Sentinel advanced to a door, at the further end of it,
which bore an inscription, painted on it in Doggee, "Royal
Kennel — Scratch and Yell."
A VISIT TO DOGLAND 379
Before doing this, the Sentinel turned to the children,
and said "Give me your names."
"We'd rather not!" Bruno exclaimed, pulling Sylvie
away from the door. "We want them ourselves. Come
back, Sylvie! Come quick!"
"Nonsense!" said Sylvie very decidedly: and gave their
names in Doggee.
Then the Sentinel scratched violently at the door, and
gave a yell that made Bruno shiver from head to foot.
"Hooyah wah!" said a deep voice inside. (That's Dog-
gee for "Come in!")
"It's the King himself!" the Mastiff whispered in an
awestruck tone. "Take off your wigs, and lay them hum-
bly at his paws." (What we should call "at his feet.'')
Sylvie was just going to explain, very politely, that real-
ly they couldnt perform that ceremony, because their
wigs wouldn't come of?, when the door of the Royal Ken-
nel opened, and an enormous Newfoundland Dog put
his head out. "Bow wow?" was his first question.
"When His Majesty speaks to you," the Sentinel hastily
whispered to Bruno, "you should prick up your ears!"
Bruno looked doubtfully at Sylvie. "I'd rather not,
please," he said. "It would hurt."
"It doesn't hurt a bit!" the Sentinel said with some in-
dignation. "Look! It's like this!" And he pricked up his
ears like two railway signals.
Sylvie gently explained matters. "I'm afraid we ca'n't
manage it," she said in a low voice. "I'm very sorry: but
our ears haven't got the right — " she wanted to say "ma-
chinery" in Doggee: but she had forgotten the word, and
could only think of "steam-engine."
The Sentinel repeated Sylvie's explanation to the King.
"Can't prick up their ears without a steam-engine!" His
Majesty exclaimed. "They must be curious creatures! I
380 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
must have a look at them!" And he came out of his Ken-
nel, and walked solemnly up to the children.
What was the amazement — not to say the horror — of
the whole assembly, when Sylvie actually patted His Ma-
jesty on the headj while Bruno seized his long ears and
pretended to tie them together under his chin!
The Sentinel groaned aloud: a beautiful Greyhound —
who appeared to be one of the Ladies in Waiting — fainted
away : and all the other Courtiers hastily drew back, and
left plenty of room for the huge Newfoundland to spring
upon the audacious strangers, and tear them limb from
limb.
Only — he didn't. On the contrary his Majesty actually
smiled — so far as a Dog can smile — and (the other Dogs
couldn't believe their eyes, but it was true, all the same)
his Majesty wagged his tail!
"Yah! Hooh hahwooh!" (that is "Well! I never!") was
the universal cry.
His Majesty looked round him severely, and gave a
slight growl, which produced instant silence. "Conduct
my friends to the banqueting-hall!" he said, laying such an
emphasis on ''my friends'' that several of the dogs rolled
over helplessly on their backs and began to lick Bruno's
feet.
A procession was formed, but I only ventured to follow
as far as the door of the banqueting-hall, so furious was
the uproar of barking dogs within. So I sat down by the
King, who seemed to have gone to sleep, and waited till
the children returned to say good-night, when His Ma-
jesty got up and shook himself.
"Time for bed!" he said with a sleepy yawn. "The at-
tendants will show you your room," he added, aside, to
Sylvie and Bruno. "Bring lights!" And, with a dignified
air, he held out his paw for them to kiss.
A VISIT TO DOGLAND 381
But the children were evidently not well practised in
Court-manners. Sylvie simply stroked the great paw:
Bruno hugged it: the Master of Ceremonies looked
shocked.
All this time Dog-waiters, in splendid livery, were run-
ning up with lighted candles : but, as fast as they put them
upon the table, other waiters ran away with them, so that
there never seemed to be one for me^ though the Master
kept nudging me with his elbow, and repeating "I ca'n't
let you sleep here! You're not in bed, you know!"
I made a great effort, and just succeeded in getting out
the words '1 know I'm not. I'm in an arm-chair."
"Well, forty winks will do you no harm," the Master
said, and left me. I could scarcely hear his words : and no
wonder : he was leaning over the side of a ship, that was
miles away from the pier on which I stood. The ship
passed over the horizon, and I sank back into the arm-
chair.
The next thing I remember is that it was morning:
breakfast was just over: Sylvie was lifting Bruno down
from a high chair, and saying to a Spaniel, who was re-
garding them with a most benevolent smile, "Yes, thank
you, we've had a very nice breakfast. Haven't we,
Bruno?"
"There was too many bones in the — " Bruno began, but
Sylvie frowned at him, and laid her finger on her lips, for,
at this moment, the travelers were waited on by a very
dignified officer, the Head-Growler, whose duty it was,
first to conduct them to the King to bid him farewell, and
then to escort them to the boundary of Dogland. The
great Newfoundland received them most affably, but,
instead of saying "good-bye," he startled the Head-Growl-
er into giving three savage growls, by announcing that he
would escort them himself.
382 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"It is a most unusual proceeding, your Majesty!" the
Head-Growler exclaimed, almost choking with vexation
at being set aside, for he had put on his best Court-suit,
made entirely of cat-skins, for the occasion.
"I shall escort them myself," his Majesty repeated, gent-
ly but firmly, laying aside the Royal robes, and changing
his crown for a small coronet, "and you may stay at
home."
"I are glad!" Bruno whispered to Sylvie, when they had
got well out of hearing. "He were so welly cross!" And he
not only patted their Royal escort, but even hugged him
round the neck in the exuberance of his delight.
His Majesty calmly wagged the Royal tail. "It's quite a
relief," he said, "getting away from that Palace now and
then! Royal Dogs have a dull life of it, I can tell you!
Would you mind" (this to Sylvie, in a low voice, and
looking a little shy and embarrassed) "would you mind
the trouble of just throwing that stick for me to fetch?"
Sylvie was too much astonished to do anything for a
moment: it sounded such a monstrous impossibility that a
King should wish to run after a stick. But Bruno was
equal to the occasion, and with a glad shout of "Hi then!
Fetch it, good Doggie!" he hurled it over a clump of bush-
es. The next moment the Monarch of Dogland had
bounded over the bushes, and picked up the stick, and
came galloping back to the children with it in his mouth.
Bruno took it from him with great decision. "Beg for it!"
he insisted; and His Majesty begged. "Paw!" commanded
Sylvie; and His Majesty gave his paw. In short, the sol-
emn ceremony of escorting the travelers to the boundaries
of Dogland became one long uproarious game of play!
"But business is business!" the Dog-King said at last.
"And I must go back to mine. I couldn't come any fur-
ther," he added, consulting a dog-watch, which hung on a
A VISIT TO DOGLAND 383
chain round his neck, "not even if there were a Cat in
sight!"
They took an affectionate farewell of His Majesty, and
trudged on.
"That were a dear dog!" Bruno exclaimed. "Has we to
go far, Sylvie? Fs tired!"
"Not much further, darling!" Sylvie gently replied.
"Do you see that shining, just beyond those trees? I'm
almost sure it's the gate of Fairyland! I know it's all gold-
en— Father told me so — and so bright, so bright!" she
went on dreamily.
"It dazzles!" said Bruno, shading his eyes with one lit-
tle hand, while the other clung tightly to Sylvie's hand, as
if he were half -alarmed at her strange manner.
For the child moved on as if walking in her sleep, her
large eyes gazing into the far distance, and her breath
coming and going in quick pantings of eager delight. I
knew, by some mysterious mental light, that a great
change was taking place in my sweet little friend (for
such I loved to think her) and that she was passing from
the condition of a mere Outland Sprite into the true Fairy-
nature.
Upon Bruno the change came later: but it was com-
pleted in both before they reached the golden gate,
through which I knew it would be impossible for me to
follow. I could but stand outside, and take a last look at
the two sweet children, ere they disappeared within, and
the golden gate closed with a bang.
And with such a bang! "It never will shut like any
other cupboard-door," Arthur explained. "There's some-
thing wrong with the hinge. However, here's the cake
and wine. And you've had your forty winks. So you real-
ly must get off to bed, old man! You're fit for nothing
else. Witness my hand, Arthur Forester, M.D."
384 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
By this time I was wide-awake again. "Not quite yet!"
I pleaded. "Really Fm not sleepy now. And it isn't mid-
night yet."
"Well, I did want to say another word to you," Arthur
replied in a relenting tone, as he supplied me with the
supper he had prescribed. "Only I thought you were too
sleepy for it to-night."
We took our midnight meal almost in silence; for an
unusual nervousness seemed to have seized on my old
friend.
"What kind of a night is it?" he asked, rising and un-
drawing the window-curtains, apparently to change the
subject for a minute. I followed him to the window, and
we stood together, looking out, in silence.
"When I first spoke to you about — " Arthur began,
after a long and embarrassing silence, "that is, when we
first talked about her — for I think it was you that intro-
duced the subject — my own position in life forbade me to
do more than worship her from a distance: and I was
turning over plans for leaving this place finally, and set-
tling somewhere out of all chance of meeting her again.
That seemed to be my only chance of usefulness in life."
"Would that have been wise?" I said. "To leave your-
self no hope at all?"
"There was no hope to leave," Arthur firmly replied,
though his eyes glittered with tears as he gazed upwards
into the midnight sky, from which one solitary star, the
glorious "Vega," blazed out in fitful splendour through
the driving clouds. "She was like that star to me — bright,
beautiful, and pure, but out of reach, out of reach!"
He drew the curtains again, and we returned to our
places by the fireside.
"What I wanted to tell you was this," he resumed. "I
heard this evening from my solicitor. I can't go into the
FAIRY-SYLVIE 385
details of the business, but the upshot is that my worldly
wealth is much more than I thought, and I am (or shall
soon be) in a position to offer marriage, without imprud-
ence, to any lady, even if she brought nothing. I doubt if
there would be anything on her side: the Earl is poor, I
believe. But I should have enough for both, even if health
failed."
"I wish you all happiness in your married life!" I cried.
"Shall you speak to the Earl to-morrow .f^"
"Not yet awhile," said Arthur. "He is very friendly, but
I dare not think he means more than that, as yet. And as
for — as for Lady Muriel, try as I may, I cannot read her
feelings towards me. If there is love, she is hiding it! No, I
must wait, I must wait!"
I did not like to press any further advice on my friend,
whose judgment, I felt, was so much more sober and
thoughtful than my own; and we parted without more
words on the subject that had now absorbed his thoughts,
nay, his very life.
The next morning a letter from my solicitor arrived,
summoning me to town on important business.
Chapter XIV
Fairy-Sylvie
For a full month the business, for which I had returned
to London, detained me there : and even then it was only
the urgent advice of my physician that induced me to
leave it unfinished and pay another visit to Elveston.
Arthur had written once or twice during the month;
but in none of his letters was there any mention of Lady
386 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Muriel. Still, I did not augur ill from his silence : to me it
looked like the natural action of a lover, who, even while
his heart was singing "She is mine!", would fear to paint
his happiness in the cold phrases of a written letter, but
would wait to tell it by word of mouth. "Yes," I thought,
"I am to hear his song of triumph from his own lips!"
The night I arrived we had much to say on other mat-
ters: and, tired with the journey, I went to bed early, leav-
ing the happy secret still untold. Next day, however, as
we chatted on over the remains of luncheon, I ventured to
put the momentous question, "Well, old friend, you have
told me nothing of Lady Muriel — nor when the happy
day is to be?"
"The happy day," Arthur said, looking unexpectedly
grave, "is yet in the dim future. We need to know — or,
rather, she needs to know me better. I know her sweet na-
ture, thoroughly, by this time. But I dare not speak till I
I sure that my love is returned."
"Don't wait too long!" I said gaily. "Faint heart never
won fair lady!"
"It is 'faint heart' perhaps. But really I dare not speak
just yet."
"But meanwhile," I pleaded, "you are running a risk
that perhaps you have not thought of. Some other man — "
"No," said Arthur firmly. "She is heart-whole: I am
sure of that. Yet, if she loves another better than me, so be
it! I will not spoil her happiness. The secret shall die with
me. But she is my first — and my only love!"
"That is all very beautiful sentiment^' I said, "but it is
not practical. It is not like you.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his desert is small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To win or lose it all,'*
FAIRY-SYLVIE 387
"I dare not ask the question whether there is another!"
he said passionately. "It would break my heart to know
it!"
"Yet is it wise to leave it unasked ? You must not waste
your life upon an *if !"
"I tell you I dare not!"
"May / find it out for you?" I asked, with the freedom
of an old friend.
"N05 no!" he replied with a pained look. "I entreat you
to say nothing. Let it wait.''
"As you please," I said: and judged it best to say no
more just then. "But this evening," I thought, "I will call
on the Earl. I may be able to see how the land lies, with-
out so much as saying a word!"
It was a very hot afternoon — too hot to go for a walk
or do anything — or else it wouldn't have happened, I be-
lieve.
In the first place, I want to know — dear Child who
reads this! — why Fairies should always be teaching us to
do our duty, and lecturing us when we go wrong, and we
should never teach them anything? You can't mean to
say that Fairies are never greedy, or selfish, or cross, or
deceitful, because that would be nonsense, you know.
Well then, don't you think they might be all the better for
a little lecturing and punishing now and then ?
I really don't see why it shouldn't be tried, and I'm al-
most sure that, if you could only catch a Fairy, and put it
in the corner, and give it nothing but bread and water for
a day or two, you'd find it quite an improved character —
it would take down its conceit a little, at all events.
The next question is, what is the best time for seeing
Fairies ? I believe I can tell you all about that.
The first rule is, that it must be a very hot day — that we
may consider as settled: and you must be just a little
388 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
sleepy — but not too sleepy to keep your eyes open, mind.
Well, and you ought to feel a little — what one may call
*'fairyish" — the Scotch call it "eerie," and perhaps that's a
prettier word; if you don't know what it means, I'm
afraid I can hardly explain it; you must wait till you meet
a Fairy, and then you'll know.
And the last rule is, that the crickets should not be
chirping. I can't stop to explain that : you must take it on
trust for the present.
So, if all these things happen together, you have a good
chance of seeing a Fairy — or at least a much better chance
than if they didn't.
The first thing I noticed, as I went lazily along through
an open place in the wood, was a large Beetle lying strug-
gling on its back, and I went down upon one knee to help
the poor thing to its feet again. In some things, you know,
you ca'n't be quite sure what an insect would like: for in-
stance, I never could quite settle, supposing I were a moth,
whether I would rather be kept out of the candle, or be
allowed to fly straight in and get burnt — or again, sup-
posing I were a spider, I'm not sure if I should be quite
pleased to have my web torn down, and the fly let loose —
but I feel quite certain that, if I were a beetle and had
rolled over on my back, I should always be glad to be
helped up again.
So, as I was saying, I had gone down upon one knee
and was just reaching out a little stick to turn the Beetle
over, when I saw a sight that made me draw back hastily
and hold my breath, for fear of making any noise and
frightening the little creature away.
Not that she looked as if she would be easily frightened :
she seemed so good and gentle that I'm sure she would
never expect that any one could wish to hurt her. She was
FAIRY-SYLVIE 389
only a few inches high, and was dressed in green, so that
you really would hardly have noticed her among the long
grass; and she was so delicate and graceful that she quite
seemed to belong to the place, almost as if she were one of
the flowers. I may tell you, besides^ that she had no wings
(I don't believe in Fairies with wings), and that she had
quantities of long brown hair and large earnest brown
eyes, and then I shall have done all I can to give you an
idea of her.
Sylvie (I found out her name afterwards) had knelt
down, just as I was doing, to help the Beetle; but it need-
ed more than a little stick for her to get it on its legs
again; it was as much as she could do, with both arms, to
roll the heavy thing over; and all the while she was talk-
ing to it, half scolding and half comforting, as a nurse
might do with a child that had fallen down.
"There, there! You needn't cry so much about it. You're
not killed yet — though if you were, you couldn't cry, you
know, and so it's a general rule against crying, my dear!
And how did you come to tumble over? But I can see well
enough how it was — I needn't ask you that — walking over
sand-pits with your chin in the air, as usual. Of course if
you go among sand-pits like that, you must expect to
tumble. You should look."
The Beetle murmured something that sounded like "I
did look," and Sylvie went on again.
"But I know you didn't! You never do! You always
walk with your chin up — you're so dreadfully conceited.
Well, let's see how many legs are broken this time. Why,
none of them, I declare! And what's the good of having
six legs, my dear, if you can only kick them all about in
the air when you tumble? Legs are meant to walk with,
you know. Now don't begin putting out your wings yet;
390 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
I've more to say. Go to the frog that Hves behind that but-
tercup— give him my compUments — Sylvie's comphments
— can you say 'comphments'?"
The Beetle tried and, I suppose, succeeded.
"Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give you some of
that salve I left v^ith him yesterday. And you'd better get
him to rub it in for you. He's got rather cold hands, but
you mustn't mind that."
I think the Beetle must have shuddered at this idea, for
Sylvie went on in a graver tone. "Now you needn't pre-
tend to be so particular as all that, as if you were too grand
to be rubbed by a frog. The fact is, you ought to be very
much obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody but
a toad to do it, how would you like that?''
There was a little pause, and then Sylvie added "Now
you may go. Be a good beetle, and don't keep your chin
in the air." And then began one of those performances of
humming, and whizzing, and restless banging about, such
as a beetle indulges in when it has decided on flying, but
hasn't quite made up its mind which way to go. At last,
in one of its awkward zig-zags, it managed to fly right
into my face, and, by the time I had recovered from the
shock, the little Fairy was gone.
I looked about in all directions for the little creature,
but there was no trace of her — and my "eerie" feeling was
quite gone off, and the crickets were chirping again mer-
rily— so I knew she was really gone.
And now I've got time to tell you the rule about the
crickets. They always leave off chirping when a Fairy goes
by — because a Fairy's a kind of queen over them, I sup-
pose— at all events it's a much grander thing than a crick-
et— so whenever you're walking out, and the crickets sud-
denly leave off chirping, you may be sure that they see a
Fairy. •
FAIRY-SYLVIE 39I
I walked on sadly enough, you may be sure. However, I
comforted myself with thinking "It's been a very wonder-
ful afternoon, so far. I'll just go quietly on and look about
me, and I shouldn't wonder if I were to come across an-
other Fairy somewhere."
Peering about in this way, I happened to notice a plant
with rounded leaves, and with queer little holes cut in the
middle of several of them. "Ah, the leafcutter bee!" I
carelessly remarked — you know I am very learned in Nat-
ural History (for instance, I can always tell kittens from
chickens at one glance) — and I was passing on, when a
sudden thought made me stoop down and examine the
leaves.
Then a little thrill of delight ran through me — for I
noticed that the holes were all arranged so as to form let-
ters; there were three leaves side by side, with "B," "R,"
and "U" marked on them, and after some search I found
two more, which contained an "N" and an "O."
And then, all in a moment, a flash of inner light seemed
to illumine a part of my life that had all but faded into
oblivion — the strange visions I had experienced during
my journey to Elveston: and with a thrill of delight I
thought "Those visions are destined to be linked with my
waking life!"
By this time the "eerie" feeling had come back again,
and I suddenly observed that no crickets were chirping, so
I felt quite sure that "Bruno" was somewhere very near.
And so indeed he was — so near that I had very nearly
walked over him without seeing him; which would have
been dreadful, always supposing that Fairies can be
walked over — my own belief is that they are something of
the nature of Will-o'-the-Wisps : and there's no walking
over them.
Think of any pretty little boy you know, with rosy
392 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
cheeks, large dark eyes, and tangled brown hair, and then
fancy him made small enough to go comfortably into a
coflEee-cup, and you'll have a very fair idea of him.
"What's your name, little one?" I began, in as soft a
voice as I could manage. And, by the way, why is it we
always begin by asking little children their names? Is it
because we fancy a name will help to make them a little
bigger ? You never thought of asking a real large man his
name, now, did you? But, however that may be, I felt it
quite necessary to know his name; so, as he didn't answer
my question, I asked it again a little louder. "What's your
name, my little man?"
"What's oors?" he said, without looking up.
I told him my name quite gently, for he was much too
small to be angry with.
"Duke of Anything?" he asked, just looking at me for
a moment, and then going on with his work.
"Not Duke at all," I said, a little ashamed of having to
confess it.
"Oo're big enough to be two Dukes," said the little
creature. "I suppose oo're Sir Something, then?"
"No," I said, feeling more and more ashamed. "I
haven't got any title."
The Fairy seemed to think that in that case I really
wasn't worth the trouble of talking to, for he quietly went
on digging, and tearing the flowers to pieces.
After a few minutes I tried again. ''Please tell me what
your name is."
"Bruno," the little fellow answered, very readily. "Why
didn't oo say 'please' before?"
"That's something like what we used to be taught in
the nursery," I thought to myself, looking back through
the long years (about a hundred of them, since you ask
the question), to the time when I was a little child. And
FAIRY-SYLVIE 393
here an idea came into my head, and I asked him "Aren't
you one of the Fairies that teach children to be good?"
"Well, we have to do that sometimes," said Bruno, "and
a dreadful bother it is." As he said this, he savagely tore a
heartsease in two, and trampled on the pieces.
"What are you doing there, Bruno?" I said.
"Spoiling Sylvie's garden," was all the answer Bruno
would give at first. But, as he went on tearing up the
flowers, he muttered to himself "The nasty cross thing —
wouldn't let me go and play this morning — said I must
finish my lessons first — lessons, indeed! Fll vex her finely,
though!"
"Oh, Bruno, you shouldn't do that!" I cried. "Don't you
know that's revenge? And revenge is a wicked, cruel,
dangerous thing!"
"River-edge?" said Bruno. "What a funny word! I sup-
pose oo call it cruel and dangerous 'cause, if oo wented
too far and tumbleded in, oo'd get drownded."
"No, not river-edge," I explained: "revenge" (saying
the word very slowly). But I couldn't help thinking that
Bruno's explanation did very well for either word.
"Oh!" said Bruno, opening his eyes very wide, but with-
out trying to repeat the word.
"Come! Try to pronounce it, Bruno!" I said, cheerfully.
"Re-venge, re-venge."
But Bruno only tossed his little head, and said he
couldn't; that his mouth wasn't the right shape for words
of that kind. And the more I laughed, the more sulky the
little fellow got about it.
"Well, never mind, my little man!" I said. "Shall I
help you with that job?"
"Yes, please," Bruno said, quite pacified. "Only I wiss I
could think of somefin to vex her more than this. Oo
don't know how hard it is to make her angry!"
394 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Now listen to me, Bruno, and I'll teach you quite a
splendid kind of revenge!"
"Somefin that'll vex her finely?" he asked with gleam-
ing eyes.
"Something that will vex her finely. First, we'll get up
all the weeds in her garden. See, there are a good many at
this end — quite hiding the flowers."
"But that won't vex her!" saia Bruno.
"After that," I said, without noticing the remark, "we'll
water this highest bed — up here. You see it's getting quite
dry and dusty."
Bruno looked at me inquisitively, but he said nothing
this time.
"Then after that," I went on, "the walks want sweeping
a bit; and I think you might cut down that tall nettle —
it's so close to the garden that it's quite in the way — "
"What is oo talking about?" Bruno impatiently inter-
rupted me. "All that won't vex her a bit!"
"Won't it?" I said, innocently. "Then, after that, sup-
pose we put in some of these coloured pebbles — just to
mark the divisions between the different kinds of flowers,
you know. That'll have a very pretty effect."
Bruno turned round and had another good stare at me.
At last there came an odd little twinkle into his eyes, and
he said, with quite a new meaning in his voice, "That'll
do nicely. Let's put 'em in rows — all the red together, and
all the blue together."
"That'll do capitally," I said; "and then — what kind of
flowers does Sylvie like best?"
Bruno had to put his thumb in his mouth and consider
a little before he could answer. "Violets," he said, at last.
"There's a beautiful bed of violets down by the
brook — "
"Oh, let's fetch 'em!" cried Bruno, giving a little skip
FAIRY-SYLVIE 395
into the air. "Here! Catch hold of my hand, and I'll help
oo along. The grass is rather thick down that way."
I couldn't help laughing at his having so entirely for-
gotten what a big creature he was talking to. "No, not yet,
Bruno," I said: "we must consider what's the right thing
\o do first. You see we've got quite a business before us."
"Yes, let's consider," said Bruno, putting his thumb into
his mouth again, and sitting down upon a dead mouse!
"What do you keep that mouse for?" I said. "You
should either bury it, or else throw it into the brook."
"Why, it's to measure with!" cried Bruno. "How ever
would oo do a garden without one? We make each bed
three mouses and a half long, and two mouses wide."
I stopped him, as he was dragging it oflf by the tail to
show me how it was used, for I was half afraid the "eerie"
feeling might go oflf before we had finished the garden,
and in that case I should see no more of him or Sylvie. "I
think the best way will be for you to weed the beds, while
/ sort out these pebbles, ready to mark the walks with."
"That's it!" cried Bruno. "And I'll tell oo about the
caterpillars while we work."
"Ah, let's hear about the caterpillars," I said as I drew
the pebbles together into a heap and began dividing them
into colours.
And Bruno went on in a low, rapid tone, more as if he
were talking to himself. "Yesterday I saw two little cater-
pillars, when I was sitting by the brook, just where oo go
into the wood. They were quite green, and they had yel-
low eyes, and they didn't see me. And one of them had
got a moth's wing to carry — a great brown moth's wing,
oo know, all dry, with feathers. So he couldn't want it to
eat, I should think — perhaps he meant to make a cloak for
the winter?"
"Perhaps," I said, for Bruno had twisted up the last
396 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
word into a sort of question, and was looking at me for an
answer.
One word was quite enough for the little fellow, and he
went on merrily. "Well, and so he didn't want the other
caterpillar to see the moth's wing, 00 know — so what
must he do but try to carry it with all his left legs, and he
tried to walk on the other set. Of course he toppled over
after that."
"After what?" I said, catching at the last word, for, to
tell the truth, I hadn't been attending much.
"He tbppled over," Bruno repeated, very gravely, "and
if 00 ever saw a caterpillar topple over, oo'd know it's a
welly serious thing, and not sit grinning like that — and I
sha'n't tell 00 no more!"
"Indeed and indeed, Bruno, I didn't mean to grin. See,
I'm quite grave again now."
But Bruno only folded his arms, and said "Don't tell
me,l see a little twinkle in one of oor eyes — ^just like the
moon."
"Why do you think I'm like the moon, Bruno?" I
asked.
"Oor face is large and round like the moon," Bruno an-
swered, looking at me thoughtfully. "It doesn't shine
quite so bright — but it's more cleaner."
I couldn't help smiling at this. "You know I sometimes
wash my face, Bruno. The moon never does that."
"Oh, doosn't she though!" cried Bruno; and he leant
forwards and added in a solemn whisper, "The moon's
face gets dirtier and dirtier every night, till it's black all
across. And then, when it's dirty all over — so — " (he
passed his hand across his own rosy cheeks as he spoke)
*'then she washes it."
"Then it's all clean again, isn't it?"
"Not all in a moment," said Bruno. "What a deal of
BRUNO S REVENGE 397
teaching oo wants! She washes it Httle by Httle — only she
begins at the other edge, oo know.
By this time he was sitting quietly on the dead mouse
with his arms folded, and the weeding wasn't getting on a
bit: so I had to say "Work first, pleasure afterwards: no
more talking till that bed's finished."
Chapter XV
Bruno's Revenge
After that we had a few minutes of silence, while I
sorted out the pebbles, and amused myself with watching
Bruno's plan of gardening. It was quite a new plan to me:
he always measured each bed before he weeded it, as if he
was afraid the weeding would make it shrink; and once,
when it came out longer than he wished, he set to work to
thump the mouse with his little fist, crying out "There
now! It's all gone wrong again! Why don't oo keep oor
tail straight when I tell oo!"
"I'll tell you what I'll do," Bruno said in a half-whisper,
as we worked. "Oo like Fairies, don't oo.^^"
"Yes," I said : "of course I do, or I shouldn't have come
here. I should have gone to some place where there are no
Fairies."
Bruno laughed contemptuously. "Why, oo might as
well say oo'd go to some place where there wasn't any air
— supposing oo didn't like air!"
This was a rather difficult idea to grasp. I tried a
change of subject. "You're nearly the first Fairy I ever
saw. Have you ever seen any people besides me?"
"Plenty!" said Bruno. "We see 'em when we walk in
the road."
398 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"But they ca'n't see you. How is it they never tread on
you r
"Ca'n't tread on us/' said Bruno, looking amused at my
ignorance. "Why, suppose oo're walking, here — so — "
(making little marks on the ground) "and suppose there's
a Fairy — that's me — walking here. Very well then, 00 put
one foot here, and one foot here, and so 00 doesn't tread
on the Fairy."
This was all very well as an explanation, but it didn't
convince me. "Why shouldn't I put one foot on the
Fairy?" I asked.
"I don't know why^' the little fellow said in a thought-
ful tone. "But I know 00 wouldn't. Nobody never walked
on the top of a Fairy. Now I'll tell 00 what I'll do, as
oo're so fond of Fairies. I'll get 00 an invitation to the
Fairy-King's dinner-party. I know one of the head-
waiters."
I couldn't help laughing at this idea. "Do the waiters
invite the guests?" I asked.
"Oh, not to sit downT Bruno said. "But to wait at
table- Oo'd like that, wouldn't 00 ? To hand about plates,
and so on."
"Well, but that's not so nice as sitting at the table, is it?"
"Of course it isn't," Bruno said, in a tone as if he rather
pitied my ignorance; "but if oo're not even Sir Anything,
00 ca'n't expect to be allowed to sit at the table, 00 know."
I said, as meekly as I could, that I didn't expect it, but
it was the only way of going to a dinner-party that I real-
ly enjoyed. And Bruno tossed his head, and said, in a rath-
er offended tone, that I might do as I pleased — there were
many he knew that would give their ears to go.
"Have you ever been yourself, Bruno?"
"They invited me once, last week," Bruno said, very
gravely. "It was to wash up the soup-plates — no, the
BRUNO S REVENGE 399
cheese-plates I mean — that was grand enough. And I
waited at table. And I didn't hardly make only one mis-
take."
"What was it?" I said. "You needn't mind telling m^."
"Only bringing scissors to cut the beef with," Bruno
said carelessly. "But the grandest thing of all was, /
fetched the King a glass of cider!"
"That was grand!" I said, biting my lip to keep myself
from laughing.
"Wasn't it?" said Bruno, very earnestly. "Oo know it
isn't every one that's had such an honour as thatr
This set me thinking of the various queer things we
call "an honour" in this world, but which, after all, have-
n't a bit more honour in them than what Bruno enjoyed,,
when he took the King a glass of cider.
I don't know how long I might not have dreamed on in
this way, if Bruno hadn't suddenly roused me. "Oh come
here quick!" he cried, in a state of the wildest excitement.
"Catch hold of his other horn! I can't hold him more thaa
a minute!"
He was struggling desperately with a great snail, cling-
ing to one of its horns, and nearly breaking his poor little
back in his efforts to drag it over a blade of grass.
I saw we should have no more gardening if I let this
sort of thing go on, so I quietly took the snail away, and
put it on a bank where he couldn't reach it. "We'll hunt
it afterwards, Bruno," I said, "if you really want to catchi
it. But what's the use of it when you've got it?"
"What's the use of a fox when oo've got it?" said Bruno.
"I know oo big things hunt foxes."
I tried to think of some good reason why "big things"
should hunt foxes, and he should not hunt snails, but none
came into my head : so I said at last, "Well, I suppose one's,
400 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
as good as the other. I'll go snail-hunting myself some
day."
"I should think oo wouldn't be so silly," said Bruno, "as
to go snail-hunting by oorself. Why, oo'd never get the
snail along, if oo hadn't somebody to hold on to his other
horn!"
"Of course I sha'n't go alone'' I said, quite gravely. "By
the v^ay, is that the best kind to hunt, or do you recom-
mend the ones without shells?"
"Oh, no, we never hunt the ones without shells," Bruno
said, with a little shudder at the thought of it. "They're al-
ways so cross about it; and then, if oo tumbles over them,
they're ever so sticky!"
By this time we had nearly finished the garden. I had
fetched some violets, and Bruno was just helping me to
put in the last, when he suddenly stopped and said "I'm
tired."
"Rest then," I said: "I can go on without you, quite
well."
Bruno needed no second invitation: he at once began
arranging the dead mouse as a kind of sofa. "And I'll sing
oo a little song," he said, as he rolled it about.
"Do," said I : "I like songs very much."
"Which song will oo choose .f^" Bruno said, as he drag-
ged the mouse into a place where he could get a good view
of me. " 'Ting, ting, ting' is the nicest."
There was no resisting such a strong hint as this : how-
ever, I pretended to think about it for a moment, and then
said "Well, I like 'Ting, ting, ting,' best of all."
"That shows oo're a good judge of music," Bruno said,
with a pleased look. "How many hare-bells would oo
like.^" And he put his thumb into his mouth to help me
to consider.
As there was only one cluster of hare-bells within easy
BRUNO S REVENGE 4OI
reach, I said very gravely that I thought one would do
this time, and I picked it and gave it to him. Bruno ran
his hand once or twice up and down the flowers, like a
musician trying an instrument, producing a most deli-
cious delicate tinkling as he did so. I had never heard
flower-music before — I don't think one can, unless one's
in the "eerie" state — and I don't know quite how to give
you an idea of what it was like, except by saying that it
sounded like a peal of bells a thousand miles oflf. When he
had satisfied himself that the flowers were in tune, he
seated himself on the dead mouse (he never seemed real-
ly comfortable anywhere else), and, looking up at me
with a merry twinkle in his eyes, he began. By the way,
the tune was rather a curious one, and you might like to
try it yourself, so here are the notes.
-mziiz4z
r:z:*:I:#zzr;*=*=:r.*i±=i=:r^:{
:D^r
:*=t
--\-
Ijci
fe
t^an
Mz:^z:-iz
X
-^-.
=3rf
—0
izq:
"Rise, oh, rise! The daylight dies:
The owls are hooting, ting, ting, ting!
WaJ^e, oh, wa\e! Beside the la\e
The elves are fluting, ting, ting, ting!
Welcoming our Fairy King,
We sing, sing, sing!'
He sang the first four lines briskly and merrily, making
the hare-bells chime in time with the music; but the last
two he sang quite slowly and gently, and merely waved
the flowers backwards and forwards. Then he left off to
402 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
explain. "The Fairy-King is Oberon, and he Uves across
the lake — and sometimes he comes in a little boat — and
we go and meet him — and then we sing this song, you
know."
"And then you go and dine with him?" I said, mis-
chievously.
"Oo shouldn't talk," Bruno hastily said: "it interrupts
the song so."
I said I wouldn't do it again.
"I never talk myself when I'm singing," he went on
very gravely: "so oo shouldn't either." Then he tuned
the hare-bells once more, and sang : —
''Hear, oh, hear! From far and near
The music stealing, ting, ting, ting!
Fairy bells adown the dells
Are merrily pealing, ting, ting, ting!
Welcoming our Fairy King,
We ring, ring, ring,
"See, oh, see! On every tree
What lamps are shining, ting, ting, ting!
They are eyes of fiery flies
To light our dining, ting, ting, ting!
Welcoming our Fairy King
They swing, swing, swing,
*' Haste, oh, haste, to ta\e and taste
The dainties waiting, ting, ting, ting!
Honey-dew is stored "
"Hush, Bruno!" I interrupted in a warning whisper.
She s commgl
Bruno checked his song, and, as she slowly made her
way through the long grass, he suddenly rushed out head-
long at her like a little bull, shouting "Look the other
way! Look the other way!"
BRUNO S REVENGE 403
"Which way?" Sylvie asked, in rather a frightened
tone, as she looked round in all directions to see where the
danger could be.
"That way!" said Bruno, carefully turning her round
with her face to the wood. "Now, walk backwards — walk
gently — don't be frightened: 00 sha'n't trip!"
But Sylvie did trip notwithstanding: in fact he led her,
in his hurry, across so many little sticks and stones, that it
was really a wonder the poor child could keep on her feet
at all. But he was far too much excited to think of what he
was doing.
I silently pointed out to Bruno the best place to lead her
to, so as to get a view of the whole garden at once : it was
a little rising ground, about the height of a potato; and,
when they had mounted it, I drew back into the shade,
that Sylvie mightn't see me.
I heard Bruno cry out triumphantly ''Now 00 may
look!" and then followed a clapping of hands, but it was
all done by Bruno himself. Sylvie was silent — she only
stood and gazed with her hands clasped together, and I
was half afraid she didn't like it after all.
Bruno too was watching her anxiously, and when she
jumped down off the mound, and began wandering up
and down the little walks, he cautiously followed her
about, evidently anxious that she should form her own
opinion of it all, without any hint from him. And when
at last she drew a long breath, and gave her verdict — in a
hurried whisper, and without the slightest regard to
grammar — "It's the loveliest thing as I never saw in all
my life before!" the little fellow looked as well pleased as
if it had been given by all the judges and juries in Eng-
land put together.
"And did you really do it all by yourself, Bruno?" said
Sylvie. "And all for me?"
404 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"I was helped a bit," Bruno began, with a merry Httle
laugh at her surprise. "We've been at it all the afternoon
— I thought oo'd like — " and here the poor little fellow's
lip began to quiver, and all in a moment he burst out cry-
ing, and running up to Sylvie he flung his arms passion-
ately round her neck, and hid his face on her shoulder.
There was a little quiver in Sylvie's voice too, as she
whispered "Why, what's the matter, darling?" and tried
to lift up his head and kiss him.
But Bruno only clung to her, sobbing, and wouldn't be
comforted till he had confessed. "I tried — to spoil oor gar-
den— first — but I'll never — never — " and then came an-
other burst of tears, which drowned the rest of the sen-
tence. At last he got out the words "I liked — putting in
the flowers — for 00, Sylvie — and I never was so happy be-
fore." And the rosy little face came up at last to be kissed,
all wet with tears as it was.
Sylvie was crying too by this time, and she said nothing
but "Bruno, dear!" and "/ never was so happy before,"
though why these two children who had never been so
happy before should both be crying was a mystery to me,
I felt very happy too, but of course I didn't cry: "big
things" never do, you know — we leave all that to the
Fairies. Only I think it must have been raining a little just
then, for I found a drop or two on my cheeks.
After that they went through the whole garden again,
flower by flower, as if it were a long sentence they were
spelling out, with kisses for commas, and a great hug by
way of a full-stop when they got to the end.
"Doos 00 know, that was my river-edge, Sylvie.^"
Bruno solemnly began.
Sylvie laughed merrily. "What do you mean?" she said.
And she pushed back her heavy brown hair with both
A CHANGED CROCODILE 405
hands, and looked at him with dancing eyes in which the
big tear-drops were still glittering.
Bruno drew in a long breath, and made up his mouth for
a great effort. "I mean re — venge," he said: "now 00 un-
der'tand." And he looked so happy and proud at having
said the word right at last, that I quite envied him. I ra-
ther think Sylvie didn't "under'tand" at all; but she gave
him a little kiss on each cheek, which seemed to do just as
well.
So they wandered oflE lovingly together, in among the
buttercups, each with an arm twined round the other,
whispering and laughing as they went, and never so much
as once looked back at poor me. Yes, once, just before I
quite lost sight of them, Bruno half turned his head, and
nodded me a saucy little good-bye over one shoulder. And
that was all the thanks I got for my trouble. The very last
thing I saw of them was this — Sylvie was stooping down
with her arms round Bruno's neck, and saying coaxingly
in his ear, "Do you know, Bruno, I've quite forgotton that
hard word. Do say it once more. Come! Only this once,
dear!"
But Bruno wouldn't try it again.
Chapter XVI
A Changed Crocodile
The Marvellous — the Mysterious — had quite passed out
of my life for the moment : and the Common-place reign-
ed supreme. I turned in the direction of the Earl's house,
as it was now "the witching hour" of five, and I knew I
406 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
should find them ready for a cup of tea and a quiet chat.
Lady Muriel and her father gave me a delightfully
warm welcome. They were not of the folk we meet in
fashionable drawing-rooms — who conceal all such feel-
ings as they may chance to possess beneath the impene-
trable mask of a conventional placidity. "The Man with
the Iron Mask" was, no doubt, a rarity and a marvel in his
own age: in modern London no one would turn his head
to give him a second look! No, these were real people.
When they looked pleased, it meant that they were pleas-
ed: and when Lady Muriel said, with a bright smile, "I'm
very glad to see you again!", I knew that it was true.
Still I did not venture to disobey the injunctions — crazy
as I felt them to be — of the love-sick young Doctor, by so
much as alluding to his existence: and it was only after
they had given me full details of a projected picnic, to
which they invited me, that Lady Muriel exclaimed, al-
most as an after-thought, "and do^ if you can, bring Doc-
tor Forester with you! Fm sure a day in the country
would do him good. Fm afraid he studies too much — "
It was "on the tip of my tongue" to quote the words
**His only books are woman's looks!" but I checked my-
self just in time — with something of the feeling of one
who has crossed a street, and has been all but run over by
a passing "Hansom."
" — and I think he has too lonely a life," she went on,
with a gentle earnestness that left no room whatever to
suspect a double meaning. "Do get him to come! And
don't forget the day, Tuesday week. We can drive you
over. It would be a pity to go by rail — there is so much
pretty scenery on the road. And our open carriage just
holds four."
"Oh, ril persuade him to come!" I said with confidence
A CHANGED CROCODILE ^407
— thinking "it would take all my powers of persuasion to
keep him away!"
The picnic was to take place in ten days: and though
Arthur readily accepted the invitation I brought him,
nothing that I could say would induce him to call — either
with me or without me — on the Earl and his daughter in
the meanwhile. No : he feared to "wear out his welcome,"
he said: they had "seen enough of him for one while":
and, when at last the day for the expedition arrived, he
was so childishly nervous and uneasy that I thought it best
so to arrange our plans that we should go separately to the
house — my intention being to arrive some time after him,
so as to give him time to get over a meeting.
With this object I purposely made a considerable circuit
on my way to the Hall (as we called the Earl's house) :
"and if I could only manage to lose my way a bit," I
thought to myself, "that would suit me capitally!"
In this I succeeded better, and sooner, than I had ven-
tured to hope for. The path through the wood had been
made familiar to me, by many a solitary stroll, in my for-
mer visit to Elveston; and how I could have so suddenly
and so entirely lost it — even though I was so engrossed in
thinking of Arthur and his lady-love that I heeded little
else — was a mystery to me. "And this open place," I said
to myself, "seems to have some memory about it I cannot
distinctly recall — surely it is the very spot where I saw
those Fairy-Children! But I hope there are no snakes
about!" I mused aloud, taking my seat on a fallen tree. "I
certainly do not like snakes — and I don't suppose Bruno
likes them, either!"
"No, he doesn't like them!" said a demure little voice at
my side. "He's not afraid of them, you know. But he does-
n't like them. He says they're too waggly!"
408 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Words fail me to describe the beauty of the Httle group
— couched on a patch of moss, on the trunk of the fallen
tree, that met my eager gaze : Sylvie reclining with her el-
bow buried in the moss, and her rosy cheek resting in the
palm of her hand, and Bruno stretched at her feet with his
head in her lap.
"Too waggly?" was all I could say in so sudden an
emergency.
"I'm not particular," Bruno said, carelessly: "but I do
like straight animals best — "
"But you like a dog when it wags its tail," Sylvie inter-
rupted. "You kjiow you do, Bruno!"
"But there's more of a dog, isn't there, Mister Sir?"
Bruno appealed to me. ''You wouldn't like to have a dog
if it hadn't got nuffin but a head and a tail?"
I admitted that a dog of that kind would be uninterest-
ing.
"There isn't such a dog as that," Sylvie thoughtfully re-
marked.
"But there would be," cried Bruno, "if the Professor
shortened it up for us!"
"Shortened it up?" I said. "That's something new. How
does he do it?"
"He's got a curious machine — " Sylvie was beginning to
explain.
"A welly curious machine," Bruno broke in, not at all
willing to have the story thus taken out of his mouth,
"and if oo puts in — somefinoruvver — at one end, oo know
— and he turns the handle — and it comes out at the uvver
end, oh, ever so short!"
"As short as short!" Sylvie echoed.
"And one day — when we was in Outland, oo know —
before we came to Fairyland — me and Sylvie took him a
A CHANGED CROCODILE 4O9
big Crocodile. And he shortened it up for us. And it did
look so funny! And it kept looking round, and saying
'wherever is the rest of me got to?' And then its eyes look-
ed unhappy — "
"Not both its eyes," Sylvie interrupted.
"Course not!" said the little fellow. "Only the eye that
couldn't see wherever the rest of it had got to. But the eye
that could see wherever — "
"How short was the crocodile?" I asked, as the story
was getting a little complicated.
"Half as short again as when we caught it — so long,"
said Bruno, speading out his arms to their full stretch.
I tried to calculate what this would come to, but it was
too hard for me. Please make it out for me, dear Child
who reads this!
"But you didn't leave the poor thing so short as that, did
your
"Well, no. Sylvie and me took it back again and we got
it stretched to — to — how much was it, Sylvie?"
"Two times and a half, and a little bit more," said Syl-
vie.
"It wouldn't like that better than the other way, I'm
afraid?"
"Oh, but it did though!" Bruno put in eagerly. "It were
proud of its new tail! Oo never saw a Crocodile so proud!
Why, it could go round and walk on the top of its tail,
and along its back, all the way to its head!"
"Not quite all the way," said Sylvie. "It couldn't, you
know."
"Ah, but it did, once!" Bruno cried triumphantly. "Oo
weren't looking — but / watched it. And it walked on
tipplety-toe, so as it wouldn't wake itself, 'cause it thought
it were asleep. And it got both its paws on its tail. And it
410 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
walked and it walked all the way along its back. And it
walked and it walked on its forehead. And it walked a
tiny little way down its nose! There now!"
This was a good deal worse than the last puzzle. Please,
dear Child, help again!
"I don't believe no Crocodile never walked along its
own forehead!" Sylvie cried, too much excited by the con-
troversy to limit the number of her negatives.
"Oo don't know the reason why it did it!" Bruno scorn-
fully retorted. "It had a welly good reason. I heard it say
'Why shouldn't I walk on my own forehead?' So a course
it did, oo know!"
"If that's a good reason, Bruno," I said, "why shouldn't
you get up that tree?"
''Shall, in a minute," said Bruno: " soon as we've done
talking. Only two peoples can't talk comfably togevver,
when one's getting up a tree, and the other isn't!"
It appeared to me that a conversation would scarcely be
"comfable" while trees were being climbed, even if both
the "peoples" were doing it: but it was evidently danger-
ous to oppose any theory of Bruno's ; so I thought it best to
let the question drop, and to ask for an account of the
machine that made things longer.
This time Bruno was at a loss, and left it to Sylvie. "It's
like a mangle," she said: "if things are put in, they get
squoze — "
"Squeezeled!" Bruno interrupted.
"Yes." Sylvie accepted the correction, but did not at-
tempt to pronounce the word, which was evidently new to
her. "They get — like that — and they come out, oh, ever so
long!"
"Once," Bruno began again, "Sylvie and me writed — "
"Wrote!" Sylvie whispered..
A CHANGED CROCODILE 4II
"Well, we wroted a Nursery-Song, and the Professor
mangled it longer for us. It were 'Titer e was a little Man,
And he had a little gun, And the bullets — ' "
"I know the rest," I interrupted. "But would you say it
long — I mean the way that it came out of the mangle?"
"We'll get the Professor to sing it for you," said Sylvie.
"It would spoil it to say it."
"I would like to meet the Professor," I said. "And I
would like to take you all with me, to see some friends of
mine, that live near here. Would you like to come?"
"I don't think the Processor would like to come," said
Sylvie. "He's very shy. But tved like it very much. Only
we'd better not come this size, you know."
The difficulty had occurred to me already: and I had
felt that perhaps there would be a slight awkwardness in
introducing two such tiny friends into Society. "What size
will you be?" I enquired.
"We'd better come as — common children^' Sylvie
thoughtfully replied. "That's the easiest size to manage."
"Could you come to-day?" I said, thinking "then we
could have you at the picnic!"
Sylvie considered a little. "Not to-day^' she replied. "We
haven't got the things ready. We'll come on — Tuesday
next, if you like. And now, really, Bruno, you must come
and do your lessons."
"I wiss 00 wouldn't say 'really Bruno!'" the little fel-
low pleaded, with pouting lips that made him look pret-
tier than ever, "It always shows there's something horrid
coming! And I won't kiss you, if you're so unkind."
"Ah, but you have kissed me!" Sylvie exclaimed in
merry triumph.
"Well then, I'll ^^kiss you!" And he threw his arms
round her neck for this novel, but apparently not very
painful, operation.
412 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"It's very like \issing!" Sylvie remarked, as soon as her
lips were again free for speech.
"Oo don't know nuffin about it! It were just the con-
f^eryT Bruno replied with much severity, as he marched
away.
Sylvie turned her laughing face to me. "Shall we come
on Tuesday?" she said.
"Very well," I said : "let it be Tuesday next. But where
is the Professor? Did he come with you to Fairyland?"
"No," said Sylvie. "But he promised he'd come and see
us, some day. He's getting his Lecture ready. So he has to
stay at home."
"At home?" I said dreamily, not feeling quite sure what
she had said.
"Yes, Sir. His Lordship and Lady Muriel are at home.
Please to walk this way."
Chapter XVII
The Three Badgers
Still more dreamily I found myself following this im-
perious voice into a room where the Earl, his daughter,
and Arthur, were seated. "So you're come at lastr said
Lady Muriel, in a tone of playful reproach.
"I was delayed," I stammered. Though what it was that
had delayed me I should have been puzzled to explain!
Luckily no questions were asked.
The carriage was ordered round, the hamper, contain-
ing our contribution to the Picnic, was duly stowed away,
and we set forth.
There was no need for me to maintain the conversation.
THE THREE BADGERS 413
Lady Muriel and Arthur were evidendy on those most de-
Ughtful of terms, where one has no need to check thought
after thought, as it rises to the Ups, with the fear ''this will
not be appreciated — this will give offence — this will sound
too serious — this will sound flippant": like very old
friends, in fullest sympathy, their talk rippled on.
"Why shouldn't we desert the Picnic and go in some
other direction?" she suddenly suggested. "A party of
four is surely self-sufficing? And as for jood, our ham-
per —
"Why shouldn't we? What a genuine ladys argument!"
laughed Arthur. "A lady never knows on which side the
onus probandi — the burden of proving — lies!"
"Do men always know?" she asked with a pretty as-
sumption of meek docility.
"With one exception — the only one I can think of — Dr.
Watts, who has asked the senseless question
'Why should I deprive my neighbour
Of his goods against his will?'
Fancy that as an argument for Honesty! His position
seems to be I'm only honest because I see no reason to
steal.' And the thief's answer is of course complete and
crushing. *I deprive my neighbour of his goods because I
want them myself. And I do it against his will because
there's no chance of getting him to consent to it!' "
"I can give you one other exception," I said: "an argu-
ment I heard only to-day — and not by a lady. *Why
shouldn't I walk on my own forehead?' "
"What a curious subject for speculation!" said Lady
Muriel, turning to me, with eyes brimming over with
laughter. "May we know who propounded the question ?
And did he walk on his own forehead?"
414 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"I ca'n't remember who it was that said it!" I faltered.
"Nor where I heard it!"
"Whoever it was, I hope we shall meet him at the Pic-
nic!" said Lady Muriel. "It's a far more interesting ques-
tion than 'Isn't this a picturesque ruin?' 'Aren't those au-
tumn-tints lovely?' I shall have to answer those two ques-
tions ten times, at least, this afternoon!"
"That's one of the miseries of Society!" said Arthur.
"Why ca'n't people let one enjoy the beauties of Nature
without having to say so every minute ? Why should Life
be one long Catechism?"
"It's just as bad at a picture-gallery," the Earl remarked.
"I went to the R.A. last May, with a conceited young ar-
tist: and he did torment me! I wouldn't have minded his
criticizing the pictures himself: but / had to agree with
him — or else to argue the point, which would have been
worse!"
"It was depreciatory criticism, of course?" said Arthur.
"I don't see the 'of course' at all."
"Why, did you ever know a conceited man dare to
praise a picture? The one thing he dreads (next to not be-
ing noticed) is to be proved fallible! If you once praise a
picture, your character for infallibility hangs by a thread.
Suppose it's a figure-picture, and you venture to say
*draws well.' Somebody measures it, and finds one of the
proportions an eighth of an inch wrong. You are disposed
of as a critic! 'Did you say he draws well?' your friends
enquire sarcastically, while you hang your head and
blush. No. The only safe course, if any one says 'draws
well,' is to shrug your shoulders. 'Draws well?' you repeat
thoughtfully. 'Draws well? Humph!' That's the way to
become a great critic!"
Thus airily chatting, after a pleasant drive through a
few miles of beautiful scenery, we reached the rendezvous
THE THREE BADGERS 415
— a ruined castle — where the rest o£ the picnic-party were
already assembled. We spent an hour or two in sauntering
about the ruins: gathering at last, by common consent,
into a few random groups, seated on the side o£ a mound,
which commanded a good view of the old castle and its
surroundings.
The momentary silence, that ensued, was promptly tak-
en possession of — or, more correctly, taken into custody
— by a Voice; a voice so smooth, so monotonous, so
sonorous, that one felt, with a shudder, that any other con-
versation was precluded, and that, unless some desperate
remedy were adopted, we were fated to listen to a Lec-
ture, of which no man could foresee the end!
The Speaker wac a broadly-built man, whose large, flat,
pale face was bounded on the North by a fringe of hair,
on the East and West by a fringe of whisker, and on the
South by a fringe of beard — the whole constituting a uni-
form halo of stubbly whitey-brown bristles. His features
were so entirely destitute of expression that I could not
help saying to myself — helplessly, as if in the clutches of
a night-mare — "they are only penciled in : no final touches
as yet!" And he had a way of ending every sentence with
a sudden smile, which spread like a ripple over that vast
blank surface, and was gone in a moment, leaving behind
it such absolute solemnity that I felt impelled to murmur
"it was not he: it was somebody else that smiled!"
"Do you observe?" (such was the phrase with which
the wretch began each sentence) "Do you observe the
way in which that broken arch, at the very top of the ruin,
stands out against the clear sky ? It is placed exactly right :
and there is exactly enough of it. A little more, or a little
less, and all would be utterly spoiled!"
"Oh gifted architect!" murmured Arthur, inaudibly to
all but Lady Muriel and myself. "Foreseeing the exact ef-
4l6 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
feet his work would have, when in ruins, centuries after
his death!"
"And do you observe, where those trees slope down the
hill," (indicating them with a sweep of the hand, and
with all the patronising air of the man who has himself
arranged the landscape), "how the mists rising from the
river fill up exactly those intervals where we need indis-
tinctness, for artistic effect? Here, in the foreground, a
few clear touches are not amiss : but a ^ar ^-ground with-
out mist, you know! It is simply barbarous! Yes, we need
indistinctness!"
The orator looked so pointedly at me as he uttered these
words, that I felt bound to reply, by murmuring some-
thing to the effect that I hardly felt the need myself — and
that I enjoyed looking at a thing, better, when I could
see it.
"Quite so!" the great man sharply took me up. "From
your point of view, that is correctly put. But for any one
who has a soul for Art^ such a view is preposterous. Na-
ture is one thing. Art is another. Nature shows us the
world as it is. But Art — as a Latin author tells us — Art^
you know — the words have escaped my memory — "
''Ars est celare Naturam^' Arthur interposed with a de-
lightful promptitude.
"Quite so!" the orator replied with an air of relief. "I
thank you! Ars est celare Naturam — but that isn't it.'*
And, for a few peaceful moments, the orator brooded,
frowningly, over the quotation. The welcome opportunity
was seized, and another voice struck into the silence.
"What a lovely old ruin it is!" cried a young lady in
spectacles, the very embodiment of the March of Mind,
looking at Lady Muriel, as the proper recipient of all
really original remarks. "And dont you admire those au-
tumn-tints on the trees? / do, intensely!''
THE THREE BADGERS 417
Lady Muriel shot a meaning glance at me; but replied
with admirable gravity. "Oh yes indeed, indeed! So true!"
"And isn't it strange," said the young lady, passing with
startling suddenness from Sentiment to Science, "that the
mere impact of certain coloured rays upon the Retina
should give us such exquisite pleasure?"
"You have studied Physiology, then?" a certain young
Doctor courteously enquired.
"Oh, yes! Isn't it a sweet Science?"
Arthur slightly smiled. "It seems a paradox, does it
not," he went on, "that the image formed on the Retina
should be inverted?"
"It is puzzling," she candidly admitted. "Why is it we
do not see things upside-down?"
"You have never heard the Theory, then, that the
Brain also is inverted?"
"No indeed! What a beautiful fact! But how is it
proved?'^
''Thus^' replied Arthur, with all the gravity of ten
Professors rolled into one. "What we call the vertex of
the Brain is really its base: and what we call its base is
really its vertex: it is simply a question of nomenclature^
This last polysyllable settled the matter. "How truly
delightful!" the fair Scientist exclaimed with enthusiasm.
"I shall ask our Physiological Lecturer why he never gave
us that exquisite Theory!"
"I'd give something to be present when the question
is asked!" Arthur whispered to me, as, at a signal from
Lady Muriel, we moved on to where the hampers had
been collected, and devoted ourselves to the more sub-
stantial business of the day.
We "waited" on ourselves, as the modern barbarism
(combining two good things in such a way as to secure
the discomforts of both and the advantages of neither)
4l8 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
o£ having a picnic with servants to wait upon you, had
not yet reached this out-of-the-way region — and of course
the gentlemen did not even take their places until the
ladies had been duly provided with all imaginable crea-
ture-comforts. Then I supplied myself with a plate of
something solid and a glass of something fluid, and found
a place next to Lady Muriel.
It had been left vacant — apparently, for Arthur, as a
distinguished stranger: but he had turned shy, and had
placed himself next to the young lady in spectacles, whose
high rasping voice had already cast loose upon Society
such ominous phrases as "Man is a bundle of Qualities!",
"the Objective is only attainable through the Subjective!".
Arthur was bearing it bravely: but several faces wore a
look of alarm, and I thought it high time to start some
less metaphysical topic.
"In my nursery days," I began, "when the weather
didn't suit for an out-of-doors picnic, we were allowed
to have a peculiar kind, that we enjoyed hugely. The
table cloth was laid under the table, instead of upon it:
we sat round it on the floor: and I believe we really en-
joyed that extremely uncomfortable kind of dinner more
than we ever did the orthodox arrangement!"
"I've no doubt of it," Lady Muriel replied. "There's
nothing a well-regulated child hates so much as regu-
larity. I believe a really healthy boy would thoroughly
enjoy Greek Grammar — if only he might stand on his
head to learn it! And your carpet-dinner certainly spared
you one feature of a picnic, which is to me its chief
drawback."
"The chance of a shower?" I suggested.
"No, the chance — or rather the certainty — of live things
occurring in combination with one's food! Spiders are my
bugbear. Now my father has no sympathy with that
THE THREE BADGERS 419
sentiment — have you, dear?" For the Earl had caught the
word and turned to Hsten.
I
"To each his sufferings, all are men," he replied in the
sweet sad tones that seemed natural to him: "each has his
pet aversion."
"But you'll never guess hisl'' Lady Muriel said, with
that delicate silvery laugh that was music to my ears.
I declined to attempt the impossible.
"He doesn't like sna^esT she said, in a stage whisper.
"Now, isn't that an unreasonable aversion? Fancy not
liking such a dear, coaxingly, clingingly affectionate crea-
ture as a snake!"
"Not like sna\esr I exclaimed. "Is such a thing pos-
sible?"
"No, he doesnt like them," she repeated with a pretty
mock-gravity. "He's not afraid of them, you know. But
he doesn't li\e them. He says they're too waggly!"
I was more startled than I liked to show. There was
something so uncanny in this echo of the very words I
had so lately heard from that little forest-sprite, that it
was only by a great effort I succeeded in saying, carelessly,
"Let us banish so unpleasant a topic. Won't you sing us
something, Lady Muriel? I know you do sing without
music."
"The only songs I know — without music — are desper-
ately sentimental, I'm afraid! Are your tears all ready?"
"Quite ready! Quite ready!" came from all sides, and
Lady Muriel — not being one of those lady-singers who
think it de rigueur to decline to sing till they have been
petitioned three or four times, and have pleaded failure
of memory, loss of voice, and other conclusive reasons
for silence — began at once: —
it
There be three Badgers on a mossy stone y
Beside a dar\ and covered way:
420 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Each dreams himself a monarch on his throne,
And so they stay and stay —
Though their old Father languishes alone,
They stay, and stay, and stay,
** There be three Herrings loitering around,
Longing to share that mossy seat:
Each Herring tries to sing what she has found
That ma\es Life seem- so sweet.
Thus, with a grating and uncertain sound.
They bleat, and bleat, and bleat.
"The Mother-Herring, on the salt sea-wave.
Sought vainly for her absent ones:
The Father-Badger, writhing in a cave,
Shrie\ed out 'Return, my sonsi
You shall have buns,' he shrieked, 'if you II behave!
Yea, buns, and buns, and buns!'
t< t
I fear,' said she, 'your sons have gone astray?
My daughters left me while I slept,'
'Yes'm,' the Badger said: 'it's as you say,'
'They should be better \ept.'
Thus the poor parents talked the time away,
And wept, and wept, and wept,"
Here Bruno broke of? suddenly. "The Herrings' Song
wants anuvver tune, Sylvie," he said. "And I ca'n't sing it
— not wizout oo plays it for me!"
Instantly Sylvie seated herself upon a tiny mushroom,
that happened to grow in front of a daisy, as if it were
the most ordinary musical instrument in the world, and
played on the petals as if they were the notes of an organ.
And such delicious tiny music it was! Such teeny-tiny
music!
Bruno held his head on one side, and listened very
THE THREE BADGERS 42I
gravely for a few moments until he had caught the mel-
ody. Then the sweet childish voice rang out once more: —
tt
€t
Oh, dear beyond our dearest dreams,
Fairer than all that fairest seems!
To feast the rosy hours atvay,
To revel in a roundelay!
Hotv blest would be
A life so free —
Ipwergis'Pudding to consume,
And drin/(^ the subtle Azzigoom!
And if, in other days and hours.
Mid other fluffs and other flowers.
The choice were given me how to dine —
'Name what thou wilt: it shall be thine!*
Oh, then I see
The life for me —
IpwergiS'Pudding to consume.
And drin\ the subtle Azzigoom!"
"Oo may leave off playing now^ Sylvie. I can do the
uvver tune much better wizout a compliment."
"He means 'without accompaniment^' " Sylvie whis-
pered, smiling at my puzzled look: and she pretended
to shut up the stops of the organ.
**The Badgers did not care to tal\ to Fish:
They did not dote on Herrings' songs:
They never had experienced the dish
To which that name belongs:
* And oh, to pinch their tails' {this was their wish,)
'With tongs, yea, tongs, and tongs!' "
I ought to mention that he marked the parenthesis,
in the air, with his finger. It seemed to me a very good
422 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
plan. You know there's no sound to represent it — any
more than there is for a question.
Suppose you have said to your friend "You are better
to-day," and that you want him to understand that you
are asking him a question^ what can be simpler than
just to make a "?" in the air with your finger? He would
understand you in a moment!
it i
And are not these the Fish' the Eldest sighed,
'Whose Mother dwells beneath the foam?'
'They are the Fish!' the Second one replied.
And they have left their home!'
'Oh wicked Fish' the Youngest Badger cried,
'To roam, yea, roam, and roam!'
"Gently the Badgers trotted to the shore —
The sandy shore that fringed the bay:
Each in his mouth a living Herring bore —
Those aged ones waxed gay:
Clear rang their voices through the ocean's roar,
'Hooray, hooray, hooray!' "
"So they all got safe home again," Bruno said, after
waiting a minute to see if / had anything to say : he evi-
dently felt that some remark ought to be made. And I
couldn't help wishing there were some such rule in So-
ciety, at the conclusion of a song — that the singer herself
should say the right thing, and not leave it to the audi-
ence. Suppose a young lady has just been warbling ("with
a grating and uncertain sound") Shelley's exquisite lyric
"/ arise from dreams of thee' : how much nicer it would
be, instead of your having to say "Oh, than\ you, than\
you!" for the young lady herself to remark, as she draws
on her gloves, while the impassioned words ''Oh, press
it to thine own, or it will brea\ at last!'' are still ringing
QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY 423
in your ears, " — but she wouldn't do it, you know. So it
did break at last."
"And I \new it would!" she added quietly, as I started
at the sudden crash of broken glass. "You've been holding
it sideways for the last minute, and letting all the cham-
pagne run out! Were you asleep, I wonder? I'm so sorry
my singing has such a narcotic effect!"
Chapter XVIII
Queer Street, Number Forty
Lady Muriel was the speaker. And, for the moment,
that was the only fact I could clearly realise. But how
she came to be there — and how / came to be there — and
how the glass of champagne came to be there — all these
were questions which I felt it better to think out in
silence, and not commit myself to any statement till I
understood things a little more clearly.
"First accumulate a mass of Facts: and then construct
a Theory." That^ I believe, is the true Scientic Method. I
sat up, rubbed my eyes, and began to accumulate Facts.
A smooth grassy slope, bounded, at the upper end, by
venerable ruins half buried in ivy, at the lower, by a
stream seen through arching trees — a dozen gaily-dressed
people, seated in little groups here and there — some open
hampers — the debris of a picnic — such were the Facts
accumulated by the Scientific Researcher. And now, what
deep, far-reaching Theory was he to construct from them.^^
The Researcher found himself at fault. Yet stay! One
Fact had escaped his notice. While all the rest were
grouped in twos and in threes, Arthur was alone: while
all tongues were talking, his was silent: while all faces
424 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
were gay, his was gloomy and despondent. Here was a
Fact indeed! The Researcher felt that a Theory must be
constructed without delay.
Lady Muriel had just risen and left the party. Could
that be the cause of his despondency ? The Theory hardly
rose to the dignity of a Working Hypothesis. Clearly
more Facts were needed.
The Researcher looked round him once more: and now
the Facts accumulated in such bewildering profusion, that
the Theory was lost among them. For Lady Muriel had
gone to meet a strange gentleman, just visible in the dis-
tance: and now she was returning with him, both of
them talking eagerly and joyfully, like old friends who
have been long parted: and now she was moving from
group to group, introducing the new hero of the hour:
and he, young, tall, and handsome, moved gracefully at
her side, with the erect bearing and firm tread of a
soldier. Verily, the Theory looked gloomy for Arthur!
His eye caught mine, and he crossed to me.
"He is very handsome," I said.
"Abominably handsome!" muttered Arthur: then
smiled at his own bitter words. "Lucky no one heard me
but you!"
"Doctor Forester," said Lady Muriel, who had just
joined us, "let me introduce to you my cousin Eric Lin-
don — Captain Lindon, I should say."
Arthur shook off his ill-temper instantly and com-
pletely, as he rose and gave the young soldier his hand.
"I have heard of you," he said. "I'm very glad to make
the acquaintance of Lady Muriel's cousin."
"Yes, that's all I'm distinguished for, as yetT said Eric
(so we soon got to call him) with a winning smile. "And
I doubt," glancing at Lady Muriel, "if it even amounts to
a good-conduct-badge! But it's something to begin with.'*
QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY 425
"You must come to my father, Eric," said Lady Muriel.
"I think he's wandering among the ruins." And the pair
moved on.
The gloomy look returned to Arthur's face: and I
could see it was only to distract his thoughts that he took
his place at the side of the metaphysical young lady, and
resumed their interrupted discussion.
"Talking of Herbert Spencer," he began, "do you really
find no logical difficulty in regarding Nature as a process
of involution, passing from definite coherent homo-
geneity to indefinite incoherent heterogeneity?"
Amused as I was at the ingenious jumble he had made
of Spencer's words, I kept as grave a face as I could.
"No physical difficulty," she confidently replied: "but
I haven't studied Logic much. Would you state the diffi-
culty?"
"Well," said Arthur, "do you accept it as self-evident?
Is it as obvious, for instance, as that 'things that are
greater than the same are greater than one another'?"
"To my mind," she modestly replied, "it seems quite
as obvious. I grasp both truths by intuition. But other
minds may need some logical — I forget the technical
terms."
"For a complete logical argument," Arthur began with
admirable solemnity, "we need two prim Misses "
"Of course!" she interrupted. "I remember that word
now. And they produce — ?"
"A Delusion," said Arthur.
"Ye — es?" she said dubiously. "I don't seem to remem-
ber that so well. But what is the whole argument called?"
"A SiUygism."
"Ah, yes! I remember now. But I don't need a SiUy-
gism, you know, to prove that mathematical axiom you
mentioned."
426 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Nor to prove that *all angles are equal', I suppose?"
"Why, of course not! One takes such a simple truth as
that for granted!"
Here I ventured to interpose, and to offer her a plate
of strawberries and cream. I felt really uneasy at the
thought that she might detect the trick: and I contrived,
unperceived by her, to shake my head reprovingly at the
pseudo-philosopher. Equally unperceived by her, Arthur
slightly raised his shoulders, and spread his hands abroad,
as who should say "What else can I say to her?" and
moved away leaving her to discuss her strawberries by
"involution," or any other way she preferred.
By this time the carriages, that were to convey the
revelers to their respective homes, had begun to assemble
outside the Castle-grounds: and it became evident — now
that Lady Muriel's cousin had joined our party — that the
problem, how to convey five people to Elveston, with a
carriage that would only hold four, must somehow be
solved.
The Honorable Eric Lindon, who was at this moment
walking up and down with Lady Muriel, might have
solved it at once, no doubt, by announcing his intention of
returning on foot. Of this solution there did not seem to
be the very smallest probability.
The next best solution, it seemed to me, was that /
should walk home: and this I at once proposed.
"You're sure you don't mind?" said the Earl. "I'm
afraid the carriage won't take us all, and I don't like
to suggest to Eric to desert his cousin so soon."
"So far from minding it," I said, "I should prefer it.
It will give me time to sketch this beautiful old ruin."
"I'll keep you company," Arthur suddenly said. And,
in answer to what I suppose was a look of surprise on my
QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY 427
face, he said in a low voice, "I really would rather. I shall
be quite de trop in the carriage!"
"I think 111 walk too," said the Earl. "You'll have to
be content with Eric as your escort," he added, to Lady
Muriel, who had joined us while he was speaking.
"You must be as entertaining as Cerberus — 'three gen-
tlemen rolled into one' — " Lady Muriel said to her com-
panion. "It will be a grand military exploit!"
"A sort of Forlorn Hope?" the Captain modestly sug-
gested.
"You do pay pretty compliments!" laughed his fair
cousin. "Good day to you, gentlemen three — or rather
deserters three!" And the two young folk entered the car-
riage and were driven away.
"How long will your sketch take?" said Arthur.
"Well," I said, "I should like an hour for it. Don't you
think you had better go without me? I'll return by train.
I know there's one in about an hour's time."
"Perhaps that would be best," said the Earl. "The Sta-
tion is quite close."
So I was left to my own devices, and soon found a
comfortable seat, at the foot of a tree, from which I had
a good view of the ruins.
"It is a very drowsy day," I said to myself, idly turn-
ing over the leaves of the sketch-book to find a blank
page. "Why, I thought you were a mile off by this time!"
For, to my surprise, the two walkers were back again.
"I came back to remind you," Arthur said, "that the
trains go every ten minutes — "
"Nonsense!" I said. "It isn't the Metropolitan Railway!"
"It is the Metropolitan Railway," the Earl insisted.
"This is a part of Kensington."
"Why do you talk with your eyes shut?" said Arthur.
"Wake up!"
428 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"I think it's the heat that makes me so drowsy," I said,
hoping, but not feehng quite sure, that I was talking
sense. "Am I awake now?"
"I think noty'' the Earl judicially pronounced. "What
do you think. Doctor? He's only got one eye open!"
"And he's snoring like anything!" cried Bruno. "Do
wake up, you dear old thing!" And he and Sylvie set to
work, rolling the heavy head from side to side, as if its
connection with the shoulders was a matter of no sort of
importance.
And at last the Professor opened his eyes, and sat up,
blinking at us with eyes of utter bewilderment. "Would
you have the kindness to mention," he said, addressing
me with his usual old-fashioned courtesy, "whereabouts
we are just now — and who we are, beginning with me?"
I thought it best to begin with the children. "This is
Sylvie, Sir; and this is Bruno."
"Ah, yes! I know them well enough!" the old man mur-
mured. "It's myself I'm most anxious about. And perhaps
you'll be good enough to mention, at the same time, how
I got here?"
"A harder problem occurs to /W(f," I ventured to say:
"and that is, how you're to get back again."
"True, true!" the Professor replied. "That's the Prob-
lem, no doubt. Viewed as a Problem, outside of oneself,
it is a most interesting one. Viewed as a portion of one's
own biography, it is, I must admit, very distressing!" He
groaned, but instantly added, with a chuckle, "As to
myself^ I think you mentioned that I am — "
"Oo're the Professor T Bruno shouted in his ear. "Didn't
00 know that? Oo've come from Outland! And it's ever
so far away from here!"
The Professor leapt to his feet with the agility of a
QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY 429
boy. "Then there's no time to lose!" he exclaimed anx-
iously. "I'll just ask this guileless peasant, with his brace
of buckets that contain (apparently) water, if he'll be so
kind as to direct us. Guileless peasant!" he proceeded in
a louder voice. "Would you tell us the way to Outland?"
The guileless peasant turned with a sheepish grin.
"Hey?" was all he said.
"The — way — to — Outland!" the Professor repeated.
The guileless peasant set down his buckets and con-
sidered. "Ah, dunnot — "
"I ought to mention," the Professor hastily put in, "that
whatever you say will be used in evidence against you."
The guileless peasant instantly resumed his buckets.
"Then ah says nowt!" he answered briskly, and walked
away at a great pace.
The children gazed sadly at the rapidly vanishing fig-
ure. "He goes very quick!" the Professor said with a sigh.
"But I \now that was the right thing to say. I've studied
your English Laws. However, let's ask this next man
that's coming. He is not guileless, and he is not a peasant
— but I don't know that either point is of vital impor-
tance."
It was, in fact, the Honourable Eric Lindon, who had
apparently fulfilled his task of escorting Lady Muriel
home, and was now strolling leisurely up and down the
road outside the house, enjoying a solitary cigar.
"Might I trouble you, Sir, to tell us the nearest way to
Outland!" Oddity as he was, in outward appearance, the
Professor was, in that essential nature which no outward
disguise could conceal, a thorough gentleman.
And, as such, Eric Lindon accepted him instantly. He
took the cigar from his mouth, and delicately shook off
the ash, while he considered. "The name sounds strange
to me," he said. "I doubt if I can help you."
430 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"It is not very iar from Fairyland^'' the Professor sug-
gested.
Eric Lindon's eye-brows were slightly raised at these
words, and an amused smile, which he courteously tried
to repress, flitted across his handsome face. "A trifle
crac\edr he muttered to himself. "But what a jolly old
patriarch it is!" Then he turned to the children. "And
ca'n't you help him, little folk?" he said, with a gentle-
ness of tone that seemed to win their hearts at once.
"Surely you know all about it?
'How many miles to Babylon?
Three-score miles and ten.
Can 1 get there by candlelight?
Yes, and bac\ again!' "
To my surprise, Bruno ran forwards to him, as if he
were some old friend of theirs, seized the disengaged
hand and hung on to it with both of his own : and there
stood this tall dignified officer in the middle of the road,
gravely swinging a little boy to and fro, while Sylvie stood
ready to push him, exactly as if a real swing had sud-
denly been provided for their pastime.
"We don't want to get to Babylon^ oo know!" Bruno
explained as he swung.
"And it isn't candlelight: it's daylight!'' Sylvie added,
giving the swing a push of extra vigour, which nearly
took the whole machine off its balance.
By this time it was clear to me that Eric Lindon was
quite unconscious of my presence. Even the Professor and
the children seemed to have lost sight of me : and I stood
in the midst of the group, as unconcernedly as a ghost,
seeing but unseen.
"How perfectly isochronous!" the Professor exclaimed
with enthusiasm. He had his watch in his hand, and was
QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY 43!
carefully counting Bruno's oscillations. "He measures
time quite as accurately as a pendulum!"
"Yet even pendulums," the good-natured young soldier
observed, as he carefully released his hand from Bruno's
grasp, "are not a joy for ever! Come, that's enough for
one bout, little man! Next time wt meet, you shall have
another. Meanwhile you'd better take this old gentleman
to Queer Street, Number — "
''Well find it!" cried Bruno eagerly, as they dragged
the Professor away.
"We are much indebted to you!" the Professor said,,
looking over his shoulder.
"Don't mention it!" replied the officer, raising his hat
as a parting salute.
^'What number did you say!" the Professor called from
the distance.
The officer made a trumpet of his two hands. "Forty!"
he shouted in stentorian tones. "And not piano, by any
means!" he added to himself. "It's a mad world, my mas-
ters, a mad world!" He lit another cigar, and strolled on
towards his hotel.
"What a lovely evening!" I said, joining him as he
passed me.
"Lovely indeed," he said. "Where did you come from?
Dropped from the clouds?"
"I'm strolling your way," I said; and no further ex-
planation seemed necessary.
"Have a cigar?"
"Thanks: I'm not a smoker."
"Is there a Lunatic Asylum near here?"
"Not that I know of."
"Thought there might be. Met a lunatic just now.,
Queer old fish as ever I saw!"
And so, in friendly chat, we took our homeward ways.
432 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
and wished each other "good-night" at the door of his
hotel.
Left to myself, I felt the "eerie" feeling rush over me
again, and saw, standing at the door of Number Forty,
the three figures I knew so well.
"Then it's the wrong house?" Bruno was saying.
"No, no! It's the right iiouse^' the Professor cheerfully
replied: "but it's the wrong street. That's where we've
made our mistake! Our best plan, now will be to — "
It was over. The street was empty. Commonplace life
was around me, and the "eerie" feeling had fled.
Chapter XIX
How to Make a Phlizz
The week passed without any further communication
with the "Hall," as Arthur was evidently fearful that we
might "wear out our welcome"; but when, on Sunday
morning, we were setting out for church, I gladly agreed
to his proposal to go round and enquire after the Earl,
who was said to be unwell.
Eric, who was strolling in the garden, gave us a good
report of the invalid, who v/as still in bed, with Lady
Murial in attendance.
"Are you coming with us to church?" I enquired.
"Thanks, no," he courteously replied. "It's not — ex-
actly— in my line, you know. It's an excellent institution
— for the poor. When I'm with my own folk, I go, just
to set them an example. But I'm not known here: so I
think I'll excuse myself sitting out a sermon. Country-
preachers are always so dull!"
HOW TO MAKE A PHLIZZ 433
Arthur was silent till we were out of hearing. Then he
said to himself, almost inaudibly, ''Where two or three
are gathered together in my name, there am 1 in the
midst of themT
"Yes," I assented: "no doubt that is the principle on
which church-going rests."
"And when he does go," he continued (our thoughts
ran so much together, that our conversation was often
slightly elliptical), "I suppose he repeats the words 7 be-
lieve in the Communion of Saints'?''
But by this time we had reached the little church, into
which a goodly stream of worshipers, consisting mainly
of fishermen and their families, was flowing.
The service would have been pronounced by any mod-
ern aesthetic religionist — or religious aesthete, which is it?
— to be crude and cold: to me, coming fresh from the
ever-advancing developments of a London church under
a soi'disant "Catholic" Rector, it was unspeakably re-
freshing.
There was no theatrical procession of demure little
choristers, trying their best not to simper under the ad-
miring gaze of the congregation : the people's share in the
service was taken by the people themselves, unaided, ex-
cept that a few good voices, judiciously posted here and
there among them, kept the singing from going too far
astray.
There was no murdering of the noble music, contained
in the Bible and the Liturgy, by its recital in a dead
monotone, with no more expression that a mechanical
talking-doll.
No, the prayers were prayed, the lessons were ready
and — best of all — the sermon was tal\ed; and I found
myself repeating, as we left the church, the words of
Jacob, w^hen he ''awa\ed out of his sleep!' " 'Surely the
434 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Lord is in this place! This is none other but the house of
God, and tJiis is the gate of heaven' "
"Yes," said Arthur, apparently in answer to my
thoughts, "those 'high' services are fast becoming pure
FormaHsm. More and more the people are beginning to
regard them as 'performances,' in which they only 'as-
sist' in the French sense. And it is specially bad for the
little boys. They'd be much less self-conscious as pan-
tomime-fairies. With all that dressing-up, and stagy-en-
trances and exits, and being always en evidence^ no
wonder if they're eaten up with vanity, the blatant little
coxcombs!"
When we passed the Hall on our return, we found the
Earl and Lady Muriel sitting out in the garden. Eric
had gone for a stroll.
We joined them, and the conversation soon turned on
the sermon we had just heard, the subject of which was
''selfishness."
"What a change has come over our pulpits," Arthur
remarked, "since the time when Paley gave that utterly
selfish definition of virtue, 'the doing good to manl^ind,
in obedience to the will of God, and for the sa\e of ever-
lasting happiness' !''
Lady Muriel looked at him enquiringly, but she seemed
to have learned by intuition, what years of experience
had taught me, that the way to elicit Arthur's deepest
thoughts was neither to assent nor dissent, but simply to
listen,
"At that time," he went on, "a great tidal wave of
selfishness was sweeping over human thought. Right and
Wrong had somehow been transformed into Gain and
Loss, and Religion had become a sort of commercial
transaction. We may be thankful that our preachers are
beginning to take a nobler view of life."
HOW TO MAKE A PHLIZZ 435
"But is it not taught again and again in the Bible?'' I
ventured to ask.
"Not in the Bible, as a whole^' said Arthur. "In the
Old Testament, no doubt, rewards and punishments are
constantly appealed to as motives for action. That teach-
ing is best for children^ and the Israelites seem to have
been, mentally, utter children. We guide our children
thus, at first: but we appeal, as soon as possible, to their
innate sense of Right and Wrong: and, when that stage
is safely past, we appeal to the highest motive of all, the
desire for likeness to, and union with, the Supreme Good.
I think you will find that to be the teaching of the Bible,
as a whole^ beginning with 'that thy days may be long
in the land^ and ending with 'be ye perfect, even as your
Father which is in heaven is perfect' "
We were silent for awhile, and then Arthur went off
on another tack. "Look at the literature of Hymns, now.
How cankered it is, through and through, with selfish-
ness! There are few human compositions more utterly
degraded than some modern Hymns!"
I quoted the stanza.
'* Whatever, hard, we lend to Thee,
Repaid a thousandfold shall be,
Then gladly will we give to Thee,
Giver of allV
"Yes," he said grimly: "that is the typical stanza. And
the very last charity-sermon I heard was infected with it.
After giving many good reasons for charity, the preacher
wound up with 'and, for all you give, you will be repaid
a thousandfold!' Oh, the utter meanness of such a motive,
to be put before men who do know what self-sacrifice
is, who can appreciate generosity and heroism! Talk of
436 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Original Sin!'' he went on with increasing bitterness.
*'Can you have a stronger proof of the Original Good-
ness there must be in this nation, than the fact that Re-
ligion has been preached to us, as a commercial specula-
tion, for a century, and that we still believe in a God?"
"It couldn't have gone on so long," Lady Muriel mus-
ingly remarked, "if the Opposition hadn't been practically
silenced — put under what the French call la cloture. Sure-
ly in any lecture-hall, or in private society, such teaching
would soon have been hooted down?"
"I trust so," said Arthur: "and, though I don't want
to see ^brawling in church' legalised, I must say that our
preachers enjoy an enormous privilege — which they ill
deserve, and which they misuse terribly. We put our man
into a pulpit, and we virtually tell him *Now, you may
stand there and talk to us for half-an-hour. We won't
interrupt you by so much as a word! You shall have it
all your own way!' And what does he give us in return?
Shallow twaddle, that, if it were addressed to you over a
dinner-table, you would think 'Does the man take me for
a fool?' "
The return of Eric from his walk checked the tide of
Arthur's eloquence, and, after a few minutes' talk on
more conventional topics, we took our leave. Lady Muriel
walked with us to the gate. "You have given me much to
think about," she said earnestly, as she gave Arthur her
hand. "I'm so glad you came in!" And her words brought
a real glow of pleasure into that pale worn face of his.
On the Tuesday, as Arthur did not seem equal to more
walking, I took a long stroll by myself, having stipulated
that he was not to give the whole day to his books, but
was to meet me at the Hall at about tea-time. On my way
back, I passed the Station just as the afternoon-train came
HOW TO MAKE A PHLIZZ 437
in sight, and sauntered down the stairs to see it come in.
But there was Uttle to gratify my idle curiosity : and, when
the train was empty, and the platform clear, I found it
was about time to be moving on, if I meant to reach the
Hall by five.
As I approached the end of the platform, from which
a steep irregular wooden staircase conducted to the upper
world, I noticed two passengers, who had evidently ar-
rived by the train, but who, oddly enough, had entirely
escaped my notice, though the arrivals had been so few.
They were a young woman and a little girl: the former,
so far as one could judge by appearances, was a nurse-
maid, or possibly a nursery-governess, in attendance on
the child, whose refined face, even more than her dress,
distinguished her as of a higher class than her companion.
The child's face was refined, but it was also a worn
and sad one, and told a tale (or so I seemed to read it)
of much illness and suffering, sweetly and patiently borne.
She had a little crutch to help herself along with: and
she was now standing, looking wistfully up the long
staircase, and apparently waiting till she could muster
courage to begin the toilsome ascent.
There are some things one says in life — as well as things
one does — which come automatically, by reflex action, as
the physiologists say (meaning, no doubt, action without
reflection, just as lucus is said to be derived "^ non lu-
cendo''). Closing one's eyelids, when something seems
to be flying into the eye, is one of those actions, and say-
ing "May I carry the little girl up the stairs?" was an-
other. It wasn't that any thought of offering help oc-
curred to me, and that then I spoke: the first intimation
I had, of being likely to make that offer, was the sound
of my own voice, and the discovery that the offer had been
438 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
made. The servant paused, doubtfully glancing from her
charge to me, and then back again to the child. "Would
you like it, dear?" she asked her. But no such doubt ap-
peared to cross the child's inind : she lifted her arms eager-
ly to be taken up. "Please!" was all she said, while a faint
smile flickered on the weary little face. I took her up with
scrupulous care, and her little arm was at once clasped
trustfully round my neck.
She was a very light weight — so light, in fact, that the
ridiculous idea crossed my mind that it was rather easier
going up, with her in my arms, than it would have been
without her : and, when we reached the road above, with
its cart-ruts and loose stones — all formidable obstacles for
a lame child — I found that I had said "Fd better carry
her over this rough place," before I had formed any men-
tal connection between its roughness and my gentle little
burden. "Indeed it's troubling you too much, Sir!" the
maid exclaimed. "She can walk very well on the flat."
But the arm, that was twined about my neck, clung just
an atom more closely at the suggestion, and decided me
to say "She's no weight, really. I'll carry her a little fur-
ther. I'm going your way."
The nurse raised no further objection: and the next
speaker was a ragged little boy, with bare feet, and a
broom over his shoulder, who ran across the road, and
pretended to sweep the perfectly dry road in front of us.
"Give us a 'ap'ny!" the little urchin pleaded, with a broad
grin on his dirty face.
''Dont give him a 'ap'ny!" said the little lady in my
arms. The words sounded harsh: but the tone was gentle-
ness itself. "He's an idle little boy!" And she laughed a
laugh of such silvery sweetness as I had never yet heard
from any lips but Sylvie's. To my astonishment, the boy
HOW TO MAKE A PHLIZZ 439
actually joined in the laugh, as if there were some subtle
sympathy between them, as he ran away down the road
and vanished through a gap in the hedge.
But he was back in a few moments, having discarded
his broom and provided himself, from some mysterious
source, with an exquisite bouquet of flowers. "Buy a posy,
buy a posy! Only a 'ap'ny!" he chanted, with the melan-
choly drawl of a professional beggar.
''Dont buy it!" was Her Majesty's edict as she looked
down, with a lofty scorn that seemed curiously mixed
with tender interest, on the ragged creature at her feet.
But this time I turned rebel, and ignored the royal
commands. Such lovely flowers, and of forms so entirely
new to me, were not to be abandoned at the bidding of
any little maid, however imperious. I bought the bouquet :
and the little boy, after popping the halfpenny into his
mouth, turned head-over-heels, as if to ascertain whether
the human mouth is really adapted to serve as a money-
box.
With wonder, that increased every moment, I turned
over the flowers, and examined them one by one: there
was not a single one among them that I could remember
having ever seen before. At last I turned to the nurse-
maid. "Do these flowers grow wild about here? I never
saw — " but the speech died away on my lips. The nurse-
maid had vanished!
"You can put me down, noWy if you like," Sylvie quiet-
ly remarked.
I obeyed in silence, and could only ask myself "Is this
a dream?'\ on finding Sylvie and Bruno walking one on
either side of me, and clinging to my hands with the
ready confidence of childhood.
"You're larger than when I saw you last!" I began.
440 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Really I think we ought to be introduced again! There's
so much of you that I never met before, you know."
"Very well!" Sylvie merrily replied. "This is Bruno,
It doesn't take long. He's only got one name!"
"There's another name to me!" Bruno protested, with
a reproachful look at the Mistress of the Ceremonies.
"And it's — 'Esquire r
"Oh, of course. I forgot," said Sylvie. "Bruno —
Esquirer
"And did you come here to meet me, my children?" I
enquired.
"You know I said we'd come on Tuesday," Sylvie ex-
plained. "Are we the proper size for common children .f^"
"Quite the right size for children^' I replied, (adding
mentally "though not common children, by any means!")
"But what became of the nursemaid?"
"It are gone!'' Bruno solemnly replied.
"Then it wasn't solid, like Sylvie and you?"
"No. Oo couldn't touch it, oo know. If oo walked at
it, oo'd go right froo!"
"I quite expected you'd find it out, once," said Sylvie^
"Bruno ran it against a telegraph post, by accident. And
it went in two halves. But you were looking the other
way."
I felt that I had indeed missed an opportunity: to wit-
ness such an event as a nursemaid going "in two halves"
does not occur twice in a life-time!
"When did oo guess it were Sylvie?" Bruno enquired.
"I didn't guess it, till it was Sylvie," I said. "But how
did you manage the nursemaid?"
''Bruno managed it," said Sylvie. "It's called a Phlizz."
"And how do you make a Phlizz, Bruno?"
"The Professor teached me how," said Bruno. "First
oo takes a lot of air — "
LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO 44I
"Oh, BrunoT Sylvie interposed. "The Professor said
you weren't to tell!"
"But who did her voice?'' I asked.
"Indeed it's troubling you too much. Sir! She can walk
very well on the flat."
Bruno laughed merrily as I turned hastily from side
to side, looking in all directions for the speaker. "That
were mer he gleefully proclaimed, in his own voice.
"She can indeed walk very well on the flat," I said.
"And I think / was the Flat."
By this time we were near the Hall. "This is where my
friends live," I said. "Will you come in and have some
tea with them?"
Bruno gave a little jump of joy: and Sylvie said "Yes,
please. You'd like some tea, Bruno, wouldn't you? He
hasn't tasted tea^' she explained to me, "since we left Out-
land."
"And that weren't good tea!" said Bruno. "It were so
tvelly weak!"
Chapter XX
Light Come, Light Go
Lady Muriel's smile of welcome could not quite con-
ceal the look of surprise with which she regarded my
new companions.
I presented them in due form. "This is Sylvie, Lady
Muriel. And this is BrunoT
"Any surname?" she enquired, her eyes twinkling
with fun.
"No," I said gravely. "No surname."
442 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
She laughed, evidently thinking I said it in fun; and
stooped to kiss the children — a salute to which Bruno
submitted with reluctance: Sylvie returned it with in-
terest.
While she and Arthur (who had arrived before me)
supplied the children with tea and cake, I tried to engage
the Earl in conversation : but he was restless and distrait^
and we made little progress. At last, by a sudden question,
he betrayed the cause of his disquiet.
''Would you let me look at those flowers you have in
your hand?"
"Willingly!" I said, handing him the bouquet. Botany
was, I knew, a favourite study of his: and these flowers
were to me so entirely new and mysterious, that I was
really curious to see what a botanist would say of them.
They did not diminish his disquiet. On the contrary,
he became every moment more excited as he turned them
over. ''These are all from Central India!" he said, laying
aside part of the bouquet. "They are rare, even there:
and I have never seen them in any other part of the
world. These two are Mexican — This one — " (He rose
hastily and carried it to the window, to examine it in a
better light, the flush of excitement mounting to his very
forehead) " — is, I am nearly sure — but I have a book of
Indian Botany here — " He took a volume from the
book-shelves, and turned the leaves with trembling fin-
gers. "Yes! Compare it with this picture! It is the exact
duplicate! This is the flower of the Upas-tree, which
usually grows only in the depths of forests; and the flower
fades so quickly after being plucked, that it is scarcely
possible to keep its form or colour even so far as the out-
skirts of the forest! Yet this is in full bloom! Where did
you get these flowers?" he added with breathless eager-
ness.
LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO 443
I glanced at Sylvie, who, gravely and silendy, laid her
finger on her lips, then beckoned to Bruno to follow her,
and ran out into the garden; and I found myself in the
position of a defendant whose two most important wit-
nesses have been suddenly taken away. "Let me give you
the flowers!" I stammered out at last, quite "at my wit's
end" as to how to get out of the difficulty. "You know
much more about them than I do!"
"I accept them most gratefully! But you have not yet
told me — " the Earl was beginning, when we were in-
terrupted, to my great relief, by the arrival of Eric Lindon.
To Arthur^ however, the new-comer was, I saw clearly ,^
anything but welcome. His face clouded over: he drew a
little back from the circle, and took no further part in
the conversation, which was wholly maintained, for some
minutes, by Lady Muriel and her lively cousin, who were
discussing some new music that had just arrived from
London.
"Do just try this one!" he pleaded. "The music looks
easy to sing at sight, and the song's quite appropriate to
the occasion."
"Then I suppose it's
^Five ocloc\ teal
Ever to thee
Faithful ril be,
Five ocloc\ teal'
ff
laughed Lady Muriel, as she sat down to the piano, and
lightly struck a few random chords.
"Not quite: and yet it is a kind of *ever to thee faith-
full I'll be!' It's a pair of hapless lovers: he crosses the
briny deep : and she is left lamenting."
"That is indeed appropriate!" she replied mockingly,
444 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
as he placed the song before her. "And am / to do the
lamenting? And who for, if you please?"
She played the air once or twice through, first in quick,
and finally in slow, time; and then gave us the whole song
with as much graceful ease as if she had been familiar
with it all her life: —
'*He steps so lightly to the land,
All in his manly pride:
He \issed her chee\, he pressed her hand,
Yet still she glanced aside.
'Too gay he seems' she dar\ly dreams,
'Too gallant and too gay
To thin\ of me — poor simple me —
When he is far away!'
7 bring my Love this goodly pearl
Across the seas' he said:
* A gem to dec\ the dearest girl
That ever sailor wedl'
She clasps it tight: her eyes are bright:
Her throbbing heart would say
'He thought of me — he thought of me —
When he was far away!'
The ship has sailed into the West:
Her ocean-bird is flown:
A dull dead pain is in her breast,
And she is wea\ and lone:
Yet there's a smile upon her face,
A smile that seems to say
'He'll thin\ of me — he'll thin\ of me —
When he is far away!
'Though waters wide between us glide,
Our lives are warm and near:
i
LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO 445
No distance parts two faithful hearts —
Two hearts that love so dear:
And I will trust my sailor-lad,
For ever and a day,
To thin\ of me — to thin\ of me —
When he is far away!' "
The look of displeasure, which had begun to come over
Arthur's face when the young Captain spoke of Love so
lightly, faded away as the song proceeded, and he listened
with evident delight. But his face darkened again when
Eric demurely remarked "Don't you think 'my soldier-
lad' would have fitted the tune just as well!"
"Why, so it would!" Lady Muriel gaily retorted. "Sol-
diers, sailors, tinkers, tailors, what a lot of words would
fit in! I think 'my tin\er\d.d! sounds best. Don't you?''
To spare my friend further pain, I rose to go, just as
the Earl was beginning to repeat his particularly embar-
rassing question about the flowers.
"You have not yet — "
"Yes, I've had some tea, thank you!" I hastily inter-
rupted him. "And now we really must be going. Good
evening. Lady Muriel!" And we made our adieux, and
escaped, while the Earl was still absorbed in examining
the mysterious bouquet.
Lady Muriel accompanied us to the door. "You couldnt
have given my father a more acceptable present!" she said,
warmly. "He is so passionately fond of Botany. I'm afraid
/ know nothing of the theory of it, but I keep his Hortus
Siccus in order. I must get some sheets of blotting-paper,
and dry these new treasures for him before they begin to
fade."
''That won't be no good at all!" said Bruno, who was
waiting for us in the garden.
446 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Why won't it?" said I. "You know I had to give the
flowers, to stop questions."
"Yes, it ca'n't be helped," said Sylvie: "but they will be
sorry when they find them gone!"
"But how will they go?"
"Well, I don't know how. But they will go. The nose-
gay was only a Phlizz^ you know. Bruno made it up."
These last words were in a whisper, as she evidently
did not wish Arthur to hear. But of this there seemed
to be little risk : he hardly seemed to notice the children,
but paced on, silent and abstracted ; and when, at the en-
trance to the wood, they bid us a hasty farewell and ran
off, he seemed to wake out of a day-dream.
The bouquet vanished, as Sylvie had predicted; and
when, a day or two afterwards, Arthur and I once more
visited the Hall, we found the Earl and his daughter,
with the old housekeeper, out in the garden, examining
the fastenings of the drawing-room window.
"We are holding an Inquest," Lady Muriel said, ad-
vancing to meet us: "and we admit you, as Accessories
before the Fact, to tell us all you know about those
flowers."
"The Accessories before the Fact decline to answer any
questions," I gravely replied. "And they reserve their de-
fence."
"Well then, turn Queen's Evidence, please! The flowers
have disappeared in the night," she went on, turning to
Arthur, "and we are quite sure no one in the house has
meddled with them. Somebody must have entered by the
window — "
"But the fastenings have not been tampered with," said
the Earl.
"It must have been while you were dining, my Lady,"
said the housekeeper.
LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO 447
"That was it," said the Earl. "The thief must have seen
you bring the flowers," turning to me, "and have noticed
that you did not take them away. And he must have
known their great value — they are simply priceless!'' he
exclaimed, in sudden excitement.
"And you never told us how you got them!" said Lady
Muriel.
"Some day," I stammered, "I may be free to tell you.
Just now, would you excuse me?"
The Earl looked disappointed, but kindly said "Very
well, we will ask no questions."
"But we consider you a i^ery bad Queen's Evidence,"
Lady Muriel added playfully, as we entered the arbour.
"We pronounce you to be an accomplice: and we sen-
tence you to solitary confinement, and to be fed on bread
and — butter. Do you take sugar ? "
"It is disquieting, certainly," she resumed, when all
"creature-comforts" had been duly supplied, "to find that
the house has been entered by a thief — in this out-of-the-
way place. If only the flowers had been eatables^ one might
have suspected a thief of quite another shape — "
"Yoii mean that universal explanation for all mysteri-
ous disappearances, 'the cat did it'?" said Arthur.
"Yes," she replied. "What a convenient thing it would
be if all thieves had the same shape! It's so confusing to
have some of them quadrupeds and others bipeds!"
"It has occurred to me," said Arthur, "as a curious prob-
lem in Teleology — the Science of Final Causes," he added,
in answer to an enquiring look from Lady Muriel.
"And a Final Cause is—?"
"Well, suppose we say — the last of a series of connected
events — each of the series being the cause of the next —
for whose sake the first event takes place."
448 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"But the last event is practically an effect of the first,
isn't it? And yet you call it a cause of it!"
Arthur pondered a moment. "The words are rather
confusing, I grant you," he said. "Will this do? The last
event is an eflfect of the first: but the necessity for that
event is a cause of the necessity for the first."
"That seems clear enough," said Lady Muriel. "Now^ let
us have the problem."
"It's merely this. What object can w^e imagine in the
arrangement by which each different size (roughly
speaking) of living creatures has its special shape? For
instance, the human race has one kind of shape — bipeds.
Another set, ranging from the lion to the mouse, are
quadrupeds. Go down a step or two further, and you
come to insects with six legs — hexapods — a beautiful
name, is it not? But beauty, in our sense of the word,
seems to diminish as we go down: the creature becomes
more — I won't say 'ugly' of any of God's creatures — more
uncouth. And, when we take the microscope, and go a
few steps lower still, we come upon animalculae, terribly
uncouth, and with a terrible number of legs!"
"The other alternative," said the Earl, "would be a
diminuendo series of repetitions of the same type. Never
mind the monotony of it: let's see how it would work
in other ways. Begin with the race of men, and the crea-
tures they require: let us say horses, cattle, sheep, and
dogs — we don't exactly require frogs and spiders, do we,
Muriel?"
Lady Muriel shuddered perceptibly: it was evidently a
painful subject. "We can dispense with them^^ she said
gravely.
"Well, then we'll have a second race of men, half-a-
yard high — "
((
LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO 449
-who would have one source of exquisite enjoyment,
not possessed by ordinary men!" Arthur interrupted.
''What source?" said the Earl.
"Why, the grandeur of scenery! Surely the grandeur
of a mountain, to me^ depends on its size^ relative to me?
Double the height of the mountain, and of course it's
twice as grand. Halve my height, and you produce the
same effect."
"Happy, happy, happy Small!" Lady Muriel murmur-
ed rapturously. "None but the Short, none but the Short,
none but the Short enjoy the Tall!"
"But let me go on," said the Earl. "We'll have a third
race of men, five inches high; a fourth race, an inch
high "
"They couldn't eat common beef and mutton, Fm
sure!" Lady Muriel interrupted.
"True, my child, I was forgetting. Each set must have
its own cattle and sheep."
"And its own vegetation," I added. "What could a cow,
an inch high, do with grass that waved far above its
head?"
"That is true. We must have a pasture within a pasture,
so to speak. The common grass would serve our inch-
high cows as a green forest of palms, while round the
root of each tall stem would stretch a tiny carpet of micro-
scopic grass. Yes, I think our scheme will work fairly
well. And it would be very interesting, coming into con-
tact with the races below us. What sweet little things the
inch-high bull-dogs would be! I doubt if even Muriel
would run away from one of them!"
"Don't you think we ought to have a crescendo series,
as well?" said Lady Muriel. "Only fancy being a hundred
yards high! One could use an elephant as a paper-weight,
and a crocodile as a pair of scissors!"
450 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"And would you have races of diflferent sizes communi-
cate with one another?" I enquired. "Would they make
war on one another, for instance, or enter into treaties?"
''War we must exclude, I think. When you could crush
a whole nation with one blow of your fist, you couldn't
conduct war on equal terms. But anything, involving a
collision of minds only, would be possible in our ideal
world — for of course we must allow mental powers to
all, irrespective of size. Perhaps the fairest rule would be
that, the smaller the race, the greater should be its intel-
lectual development!"
"Do you mean to say," said Lady Muriel, "that these
manikins of an inch high are to argue with me?"
"Surely, surely!" said the Earl. "An argument doesn't
depend for its logical force on the size of the creature that
utters it!"
She tossed her head indignantly. "I would not argue
with any man less than six inches high!" she cried. "I'd
make him wor\r
"What at?" said Arthur, listening to all this nonsense
with an amused smile.
''Embroidery!'' she readily replied. "What lovely em-
broidery they would do!"
"Yet, if they did it wrong," I said, "you couldn't argue
the question. I don't know why: but I agree that it
couldn't be done."
"The reason is," said Lady Muriel, "one couldn't sacri-
fice one's dignity so far."
"Of course one couldn't!" echoed Arthur. "Any more
than one could argue with a potato. It would be alto-
gether— excuse the ancient pun — infra dig,!''
"I doubt it," said I. "Even a pun doesn't quite convince
me."
THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR 45I
"Well i£ that is not the reason," said Lady Muriel,
"what reason would you give?"
I tried hard to understand the meaning of this ques-
tion : but the persistent humming o£ the bees confused me,
and there was a drowsiness in the air that made every
thought stop and go to sleep before it had got well
thought out: so all I could say was "That must depend
on the weight of the potato."
I felt the remark was not so sensible as I should have
liked it to be. But Lady Muriel seemed to take it quite
as a matter of course. "In that case — " she began, but
suddenly started, and turned away to listen. "Don't you
hear him?" she said. "He's crying. We must go to him,
somehow."
And I said to myself "That's very strange! I quite
thought it was Lady Muriel talking to me. Why, it's
Sylvie all the while!" And I made another great eflfort
to say something that should have some meaning in it.
"Is it about the potato?"
Chapter XXI
Through the Ivory Door
"I don't know," said Sylvie. "Hush! I must think. I
could go to him, by myself, well enough. But I want you
to come too."
"Let me go with you," I pleaded. "I can walk as fast
as you can, I'm sure."
Sylvie laughed merrily. "What nonsense!" she cried.
"Why, you ca'n't walk a bit! You're lying quite flat on
your back! You don't understand these things."
"I can walk as well as you can," I repeated. And I tried
452 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
my best to walk a few steps : but the ground slipped away
backwards, quite as fast as I could walk, so that I made
no progress at all. Sylvie laughed again.
"There, I told you so! You've no idea how funny you
look, moving your feet about in the air, as if you were
walking! Wait a bit. I'll ask the Professor what we'd bet-
ter do." And she knocked at his study-door.
The door opened, and the Professor looked out.
"What's that crying I heard just now?" he asked. "Is it
a human animal?"
"It's a boy," Sylvie said.
"I'm afraid you've been teasing him?"
"No, indeed I haven't!" Sylvie said, very earnestly. "I
never tease him!"
"Well, I must ask the Other Professor about it." He
went back into the study, and we heard him whispering
"small human animal — says she hasn't been teasing him —
the kind that's called Boy — "
"Ask her which Boy," said a new voice. The Professor
came out again.
''Which Boy is it that you haven't been teasing?"
Sylvie looked at me with twinkling eyes. "You dear
old thing!" she exclaimed, standing on tiptoe to kiss him,
while he gravely stooped to receive the salute. "How you
do puzzle me! Why, there are several boys I haven't been
teasing!"
The Professor returned to his friend : and this time the
voice said "Tell her to bring them here — all of them!"
"I ca'n't, and I won't!" Sylvie exclaimed, the moment
he reappeared. "It's Bruno that's crying: and he's my
brother : and, please, we both want to go : he ca'n't walk,
you know: he's — he's dreaming^ you know" (this in a
whisper, for fear of hurting my feelings). "Do let's go
through the Ivory Door!"
THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR 453
"Fll ask him," said the Professor, disappearing again.
He returned directly. "He says you may. Follow me, and
walk on tip-toe."
The difficulty with me would have been, just then, not
to walk on tip-toe. It seemed very hard to reach down far
enough to just touch the floor, as Sylvie led me through
the study.
The Professor went before us to unlock the Ivory
Door. I had just time to glance at the Other Professor,
who was sitting reading, with his back to us, before the
Professor showed us out through the door, and locked it
behind us. Bruno was standing with his hands over his
face, crying bitterly.
"What's the matter, darling?" said Sylvie, with her
arms round his neck.
"Hurted mine self welly much!" sobbed the poor little
fellow.
"Fm so sorry, darling! How ever did you manage to
hurt yourself so?"
"Course I managed it!" said Bruno, laughing through
his tears. "Does oo think nobody else but oo can't manage
things?"
Matters were looking distinctly brighter, now Bruno
had begun to argue. "Come, let's hear all about it!" I
said.
"My foot took it into its head to slip — " Bruno began.
"A foot hasn't got a head!" Sylvie put in, but all in
vain.
"I slipted down the bank. And I tripted over a stone.
And the stone hurted my foot! And I trod on a Bee. And
the Bee stinged my finger!" Poor Bruno sobbed again.
The complete list of woes was too much for his feelings.
"And it knewed I didn't mean to trod on it!" he added, as
the climax.
454 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"That Bee should be ashamed of itself!" I said severely,
and Sylvie hugged and kissed the wounded hero till all
tears were dried.
"My finger's quite unstung now!" said Bruno. "Why
doos there be stones? Mister Sir, doos oo know?"
"They're good for something^'' I said: "even if we don't
know what. What's the good of dandelions^ now?"
"Dindledums?" said Bruno. "Oh, they're ever so pretty!
And stones aren't pretty, one bit. Would oo like some
dindledums, Mister Sir?"
"Bruno!" Sylvie murmured reproachfully. "You
mustn't say 'Mister' and 'Sir,' both at once! Remember
what I told you!"
"You telled me I were to say 'Mister' when I spoked
about him, and I were to say 'Sir' when I spoked to
him!"
"Well, you're not doing both^ you know."
"Ah, but I is doing bofe. Miss Praticular!" Bruno ex-
claimed triumphantly. "I wishted to speak about the
Gemplun — and I wishted to speak to the Gemplun. So a
course I said 'Mister Sir'!"
"That's all right, Bruno," I said.
''Course it's all right!" said Bruno. "Sylvie just knows
nuffin at all!"
"There never was an impertinenter boy!" said Sylvie,
frowning till her bright eyes were nearly invisible.
"And there never was an ignoranter girl!" retorted
Bruno. "Come along and pick some dindledums. That's
all she s fit for!'' he added in a very loud whisper to me.
"But why do you say 'Dindledums,' Bruno? Dande-
lions is the right word."
"It's because he jumps about so," Sylvie said, laughing.
"Yes, that's it," Bruno assented. "Sylvie tells me the
THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR 455
words, and then, when I jump about, they get shooken
up in my head — till they're all froth!"
I expressed myself as perfectly satisfied with this ex-
planation. "But aren't you going to pick me any dindle-
dums, after all?"
"Course we will!" cried Bruno. "Come along, Sylvie!"
And the happy children raced away, bounding over the
turf with the fleetness and grace of young antelopes.
"Then you didn't find your way back to Outland?" I
said to the Professor.
"Oh yes, I did!" he replied, "We never got to Queer
Street; but I found another way. I've been backwards
and forwards several times since then. I had to be present
at the Election, you know, as the author of the new
Money-Act. The Emperor was so kind as to wish that /
should have the credit of it. 'Let come what come may,'
(I remember the very words of the Imperial Speech) *if
it should turn out that the Warden is alive, you will bear
witness that the change in the coinage is the Professor's
doing, not mine!'' I never was so glorified in my life, be-
fore!" Tears trickled down his cheeks at the recollection,
which apparently was not wholly a pleasant one.
"Is the Warden supposed to be dead?''
"Well, it's supposed so: but, mind you, / don't believe
it! The evidence is very weak — mere hear-say. A wander-
ing Jester, with a Dancing-Bear (they found their way
into the Palace, one day) has been telling people he comes
from Fairyland, and that the Warden died there. / want-
ed the Vice-Warden to question him, but, most unluckily,
he and my Lady were always out walking when the
Jester came round. Yes, the Warden's supposed to be
dead!" And more tears trickled down the old man's
cheeks.
456 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"But what is the new Money-Act?"
The Professor brightened up again. "The Emperor
started the thing," he said. "He wanted to make every-
body in Outland twice as rich as he was before — just to
make the new Government popular. Only there wasn't
nearly enough money in the Treasury to do it. So / sug-
gested that he might do it by doubling the value of every
coin and bank-note in Outland. It's the simplest thing
possible. I wonder nobody ever thought of it before! And
you never saw such universal joy. The shops are full from
morning to night. Everybody's buying everything!"
"And how was the glorifying done?"
A sudden gloom overcast the Professor's jolly face.
"They did it as I went home after the Election," he
mournfully replied. "It was kindly meant — but I didn't
like it! They waved flags all round me till I was nearly
blind: and they rang bells till I was nearly deaf: and they
strewed the road so thick with flowers that I lost my
way!" And the poor old man sighed deeply.
"How far is it to Outland?" I asked, to change the
subject.
"About five days' march. But one must go back — oc-
casionally. You see, as Court-Professor, I have to be al-
ways in attendance on Prince Uggug. The Empress
would be very angry if I left him, even for an hour."
"But surely, every time you come here, you are absent
ten davs, at least?"
"Oh, more than that!" the Professor exclaimed. "A fort-
night, sometimes. But of course I keep a memorandum
of the exact time when I started, so that I can put the
Court-time back to the very moment!"
"Excuse me," I said. "I don't understand."
Silently the Professor drew from his pocket a square
gold watch, with six or eight hands, and held it out for
THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR * 457
my inspection. "This," he began, "is an Outlandish
Watch—"
"So I should have thought."
" — which has the peculiar property that, instead of
its going with the time^ the time goes with it, I trust
you understand me now?"
"Hardly," I said.
"Permit me to explain. So long as it is let alone, it takes
its own course. Time has no effect upon it."
"I have known such watches," I remarked.
"It goes, of course, at the usual rate. Only the time has
to go with it. Hence, if I move the hands, I change the
time. To move them forwards, in advance of the true
time, is impossible: but I can move them as much as a
month backwards — that is the limit. And then you have
the events all over again — with any alterations experience
may suggest."
*''What a blessing such a watch would be," I thought,
"in real life! To be able to unsay some heedless word —
to undo some reckless deed! Might I see the thing done?"
"With pleasure!" said the good natured Professor.
"When I move this hand back to here,'' pointing out the
place, "History goes back fifteen minutes!"
Trembling with excitement, I watched him push the
hand round as he described.
"Hurted mine self welly much!"
Shrilly and suddenly the words rang in my ears, and,
more startled than I cared to show, I turned to look for
the speaker.
Yes! There was Bruno, standing with the tears run-
ning down his cheeks, just as I had seen him a quarter
of an hour ago; and there was Sylvie with her arms round
his neck!
I had not the heart to make the dear little fellow go
45^ * SYLVIE AND BRUNO
through his troubles a second time, so hastily begged the
Professor to push the hands rounds into their former
position. In a moment Sylvie and Bruno were gone again,
and I could just see them in the far distance, picking
"dindledums."
"Wonderful, indeed!" I exclaimed.
"It has another property, yet more wonderful," said
the Professor. "You see this little peg? That is called the
'Reversal Peg.' If you push it in, the events of the next
hour happen in the reverse order. Do not try it now. I
will lend you the Watch for a few days, and you can
amuse yourself with experiments."
"Thank you very much!" I said as he gave me the
Watch. "I'll take the greatest care of it — why, here are
the children again!"
"We could only but find six dindledums," said Bruno,
putting them into my hands, " 'cause Sylvie said it were
time to go back. And here's a big blackberry for ooself!
We couldn't only find but twoT
"Thank you : it's very nice," I said. And I suppose you
ate the other, Bruno?"
"No, I didn't," Bruno said, carelessly. ''Aren't they
pretty dindledums. Mister Sir?"
"Yes, very: but what makes you limp so, my child?"
"Mine foot's come hurted again!" Bruno mournfully
replied. And he sat down on the ground, and began
nursing it.
The Professor held his head between his hands — an at-
titude that I knew indicated distraction of mind. "Better
rest a minute," he said. "It may be better then — or it may
be worse. If only I had some of my medicines here! I'm
Court-Physician, you know," he added, aside to me.
"Shall I go and get you some blackberries, darling?"
THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR 459
Sylvie whispered, with her arms round his neck ; and she
kissed away a tear that was trickUng down his cheek.
Bruno brightened up in a moment. "That are a good
plan!" he exclaimed. "I thinks my foot would come quite
unhurted, i£ I eated a blackberry — two or three black-
berries— six or seven blackberries — "
Sylvie got up hastily. "Fd better go," she said, aside to
me, "before he gets into the double figures!"
"Let me come and help you," I said. "I can reach higher
up than you can."
"Yes, please," said Sylvie, putting her hand into mine:
and we walked off together.
"Bruno loves blackberries," she said, as we paced slow-
ly along by a tall hedge, that looked a promising place
for them, "and it was so sweet of him to make me eat
the only one!"
"Oh, it was you that ate it, then? Bruno didn't seem to
like to tell me about it."
"No; I saw that," said Sylvie. "He's always afraid of
being praised. But he made me eat it, really! I would
much rather he — oh, what's that?" And she clung to my
hand, half -frightened, as we came in sight of a hare, lying
on its side with legs stretched out, just in the entrance to
the wood.
"It's a hare^ my child. Perhaps it's asleep."
"No, it isn't asleep," Sylvie said, timidly going nearer
to look at it: "it's eyes are open. Is it — is it — " her voice
dropped to an awe-struck whisper, "is it dead^ do vou
think?"
"Yes, it's quite dead," I said, after stooping to examine
it. "Poor thing! I think it's been hunted to death. I know
the harriers were out yesterday. But they haven't touched
it. Perhaps they caught sight of another, and left it to
die of fright and exhaustion."
460 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Hunted to death?'' Sylvie repeated to herself, very
slowly and sadly. "I thought hunting was a thing they
played at — like a game. Bruno and I hunt snails: but we
never hurt them when we catch them!"
"Sweet angel!" I thought. "How am I to get the idea
of Sport into your innocent mind?" And as we stood,
hand-in-hand, looking down at the dead hare, I tried to
put the thing into such words as she could understand.
"You know what fierce wild-beasts lions and tigers are?"
Sylvie nodded. "Well, in some countries men have to kill
them, to save their own lives, you know."
"Yes," said Sylvie: "if one tried to kill me^ Bruno
would kill it — if he could."
"Well, and so the men — the hunters — get to enjoy it,
you know : the running, and the fighting, and the shout-
ing, and the danger."
"Yes," said Sylvie. "Bruno likes danger."
"Well, but, in this country, there aren't any lions and
tigers, loose: so they hunt other creatures, you see." I
hoped, but in vain, that this would satisfy her, and that
she would ask no more questions.
"They hunt foxeSy' Sylvie said, thoughtfully. "And I
think they /{ill them, too. Foxes are very fierce. I daresay
men don t love them. Are hares fierce?"
"No," I said. "A hare is a sweet, gentle, timid animal —
almost as gentle as a lamb."
"But, if men lot/e hares, why — why — "her voice quiv-
ered, and her sweet eyes were brimming over with tears.
"I'm afraid they dont love them, dear child."
"All children love them," Sylvie said. "All ladies love
them."
"I'm afraid even ladies go to hunt them, sometimes."
Sylvie shuddered. "Oh, no, not ladies!'' she earnestly
pleaded. "Not Lady Muriel!"
THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR 461
"No, she never does, Fm sure — but this is too sad a
sight for you^ dear. Let's try and find some — "
But Sylvie was not satisfied yet. In a hushed, solemn
tone, with bowed head and clasped hands, she put her
final question. "Does God love hares?"
"Yes!" I said. "I'm sure He does! He loves every living
thing. Even sinful men. How much more the animals,
that cannot sin!"
"I don't know what 'sin' means," said Sylvie. And I
didn't try to explain it.
"Come, my child," I said, trying to lead her away.
"Wish good-bye to the poor hare, and come and look for
blackberries."
"Good-bye, poor hare!" Sylvie obediently repeated,
looking over her shoulder at it as we turned away. And
then, all in a moment, her self-command gave way. Pull-
ing her hand out of mine, she ran back to where the
dead hare was lying, and flung herself down at its side
in such an agony of grief as I could hardly have believed
possible in so young a child.
"Oh, my darling, my darling!" she moaned, over and
over again. "And God meant your life to be so beautiful!"
Sometimes, but always keeping her face hidden on the
ground, she would reach out one little hand, to stroke
the poor dead thing, and then once more bury her face
in her hands, and sob as if her heart would break.
I was afraid she would really make herself ill: still I
thought it best to let her weep away the first sharp agony
of grief: and, after a few minutes, the sobbing gradually
ceased, and Sylvie rose to her feet, and looked calmly
at me, though tears were still streaming down her cheeks.
I did not dare to speak again, just yet; but simply held
out my hand to her, that we might quit the melancholy
spot.
462 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Yes, ril come now," she said. Very reverently she
kneeled down, and kissed the dead hare; then rose and
gave me her hand, and we moved on in silence.
A child's sorrow is violent, but short; and it was almost
in her usual voice that she said, after a minute, "Oh
stop, stop! Here are some lovely blackberries!"
We filled our hands with fruit, and returned in all
haste to where the Professor and Bruno were seated on a
bank, awaiting our return.
Just before we came within hearing-distance, Sylvie
checked me. "Please don't tell Bruno about the hare!"
she said.
"Very well, my child. But why not?"
Tears again glittered in those sweet eyes, and she turned
her head away, so that I could scarcely hear her reply.
"He's — he's very jond of gentle creatures, you know. And
he'd — he'd be so sorry! I don't want him to be made
sorry."
"And your agony of sorrow is to count for nothing,
then, sweet unselfish child!" I thought to myself. But no
more was said till we had reached our friends; and Bruno
was far too much engrossed, in the feast we had brought
him, to take any notice of Sylvie's unusually grave
manner.
"I'm afraid it's getting rather late. Professor?" I said.
"Yes, indeed," said the Professor. "I must take you all
through the Ivory Door again. You've stayed your full
time.
"Mightn't we stay a little longer!" pleaded Sylvie.
"Just one minute!" added Bruno.
But the Professor was unyielding. "It's a great privilege,
coming through at all," he said. "We must go now." And
we followed him obediently to the Ivory Door, which he
threw open, and signed to me to go through first.
CROSSING THE LINE 463
"You're coming too, aren't you?" I said to Sylvie.
"Yes," she said: "but you won't see us after you've gone
through."
"But suppose I wait for you outside?" I asked, as I
stepped through the doorway.
"In that case," said Sylvie, "I think the potato would be
quite justified in asking your weight. I can quite^ imagine
a really superior kidney-potato declining to argue with
any one under fifteen stone!''
With a great effort I recovered the thread of my
thoughts. "We lapse very quickly into nonsense!" I said.
Chapter XXII
Crossing the Line
"Let us lapse back again," said Lady Muriel. "Take an-
other cup of tea? I hope that's sound common sense?"
"And all that strange adventure," I thought, "has oc-
cupied the space of a single comma in Lady Muriel's
speech! A single comma, for which grammarians tell us
to 'count oneT (I felt no doubt that the Professor had
kindly put back the time for me, to the exact point at
which I had gone to sleep.)
When a few minutes afterwards, we left the house, Ar-
thur's first remark was certainly a strange one. "We've
been there just twenty minutes^'' he said, "and I've done
nothing but listen to you and Lady Muriel talking: and
yet, somehow, I feel exactly as if / had been talking with
her for an hour at least!"
And so he had been, I felt no doubt: only, as the time
464 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
had been put back to the beginning of the tete-a-tete he
referred to, the whole of it had passed into obhvion, if not
into nothingness! But I valued my own reputation for
sanity too highly to venture on explaining to him what
had happened.
For some cause, which I could not at the moment di-
vine, Arthur was unusually grave and silent during our
walk home. It could not be connected with Eric Lindon,
I thought, as he had for some days been away in London :
so that, having Lady Muriel almost "all to himself" — for
/ was only too glad to hear those two conversing, to have
any wish to intrude any remarks of my own — he ought,
theoretically, to have been specially radiant and contented
with life. "Can he have heard any bad news?" I said to
myself. And, almost as if he had read my thoughts, he
spoke.
"He will be here by the last train," he said, in the tone
of one who is continuing a conversation rather than be-
ginning one.
"Captain Lindon, do you mean?"
"Yes — Captain Lindon," said Arthur: "I said 'he,' be-
cause I fancied we were talking about him. The Earl told
me he comes to-night, though to-morrow is the day when
he will know about the Commission that he's hoping for.
I wonder he doesn't stay another day to hear the result, if
he's really so anxious about it as the Earl believe^ he is."
"He can have a telegram sent after him," I said: "but
it's not very soldier-like, running away from possible bad
news!
"He's a very good fellow," said Arthur: "but I confess it
would be good news for me, if he got his Commission,
and his Marching Orders all at once! I wish him all happi-
ness— with one exception. Good night!" (We had reached
CROSSING THE LINE 465
home by this time.) "I'm not good company to-night —
better be alone."
It was much the same, next day. Arthur declared he
wasn't fit for Society, and I had to set forth alone for an
afternoon-stroll. I took the road to the Station, and, at the
point where the road from the "Hall" joined it, I paused,
seeing my friends in the distance, seemingly bound for
the same goal.
"Will you join us?" the Earl said, after I had exchanged
greetings with him, and Lady Muriel, and Captain Lin-
don. "This restless young man is expecting a telegram,
and we are going to the Station to meet it."
"There is also a restless young woman in the case,"
Lady Muriel added.
"That goes without saying, my child," said her father.
"Women are always restless!"
"For generous appreciation of all one's best qualities,"
his daughter impressively remarked, "there's nothing to
compare with a father, is there, Eric?"
"Cousins are not 'in it,' " said Eric: and then somehow
the conversation lapsed into two duologues, the younger
folk taking the lead, and the two old men following with
less eager steps.
"And when are we to see your little friends again?" said
the Earl. "They are singularly attractive children."
"I shall be delighted to bring them, when I can," I said.
"But I don't know, myself, when I am likely to see them
again."
"I'm not going to question you," said the Earl: "but
there's no harm in mentioning that Muriel is simply tor-
mented with curiosity! We know most of the people
about here, and she has been vainly trying to guess what
house they can possibly be staying at."
466 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Some day I may be able to enlighten her: but just at
present — "
"Thanks. She must bear it as best she can. / tell her it's
a grand opportunity for practising patience. But she hard-
ly sees it from that point of view. Why, there are the chil-
dren!"
So indeed they were: waiting (for us^ apparently) at a
stile, which they could not have climbed over more than
a few moments, as Lady Muriel and her cousin had pass-
ed it without seeing them. On catching sight of us, Bruno
ran to meet us, and to exhibit to us, with much pride, the
handle of a clasp-knife — the blade having been broken oflE
— which he had picked up in the road.
"And what shall you use it for, Bruno?" I said.
"Don't know," Bruno carelessly replied: "must think."
"A child's first view of life," the Earl remarked, with
that sweet sad smile of his, "is that it is a period to be
spent in accumulating portable property. That view gets
modified as the years glide away." And he held out his
hand to Sylvie, who had placed herself by me, looking a
little shy of him.
But the gentle old man was not one with whom any
child, human or fairy, could be shy for long; and she had
very soon deserted my hand for his — Bruno alone remain-
ing faithful to his first friend. We overtook the other
couple just as they reached the Station, and both Lady
Muriel and Eric greeted the children as old friends — the
latter with the words "So you got to Babylon by candle-
light, after all?"
"Yes, and back again!" cried Bruno.
Lady Muriel looked from one to the other in blank as-
tonishment. "What, you know them, Eric?" she exclaim-
ed. "This mystery grows deeper every day!"
CROSSING THE LINE 467
"Then we must be somewhere in the Third Act," said
Eric. "You don't expect the mystery to be cleared up till
the Fifth Act, do you?"
"But it's such a long drama!" was the plaintive reply.
"We must have got to the Fifth Act by this time!"
''Third Act, I assure you," said the young soldier merci-
lessly. "Scene, a railway-platform. Lights down. Enter
Prince (in disguise, of course) and faithful Attendant.
This is the Prince — " (taking Bruno's hand) "and here
stands his humble Servant! What is your Royal High-
ness's next command?" And he made a most courtier-like
lovv^ bow to his puzzled little friend.
"Oo're not a Servant!" Bruno scornfully exclaimed.
"Oo're a Gemplun!''
''Servant^ I assure your Royal Highness!" Eric respect-
fully insisted. "Allow me to mention to your Royal High-
ness my various situations — past, present, and future."
"What did 00 begin wiz?" Bruno asked, beginning to
enter into the jest. "Was oo a shoe-black?"
"Lower than that, your Royal Highness! Years ago, I
offered myself as a Slave — as a 'Confidential Slave,' I
think it's called?" he asked, turning to Lady Muriel.
But Lady Muriel heard him not: something had gone
wrong with her glove, which entirely engrossed her atten-
tion.
"Did 00 get the place?" said Bruno.
"Sad to say, your Royal Highness, I did not! So I had
to take a situation as — as Waiter, which I have now held
for some years — haven't L^" He again glanced at Lady
Muriel.
"Sylvie dear, do help me to button this glove!" Lady
Muriel whispered, hastily stooping down, and failing to
hear the question.
468 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"And what will 00 be next?'' said Bruno.
"My next place will, I hope, be that of Groom, And af-
ter that—"
"Don't puzzle the child so!" Lady Muriel interrupted.
^'What nonsense you talk!"
" — after that," Eric persisted, "I hope to obtain the sit-
uation of Housef^eeper, which — Fourth Act!'' he pro-
claimed, with a sudden change of tone. "Lights turned up.
Red lights. Green lights. Distant rumble heard. Enter a
passenger-train!"
And in another minute the train drew up alongside of
the platform, and a stream of passengers began to flow out
from the booking office and waiting-rooms.
"Did you ever make real life into a drama?" said the
Earl. "Now just try. I've often amused myself that way.
Consider this platform as our stage. Good entrances and
exits on both sides, you see. Capital background scene:
real engine moving up and down. All this bustle, and
people passing to and fro, must have been most carefully
rehearsed! How naturally they do it! With never a glance
at the audience! And every grouping is quite fresh, you
see. No repetition!"
It really was admirable, as soon as I began to enter into
it from this point of view. Even a porter passing, with a
barrow piled with luggage, seemed so realistic that one
was tempted to applaud. He was followed by an angry
mother, with hot red face, dragging along two screaming
children, and calling, to some one behind, "John! Come
on!" Enter, John, very meek, very silent, and loaded with
parcels. And he was followed, in his turn, by a frightened
little nursemaid, carrying a fat baby, also screaming. All
the children screamed.
"Capital byplay!" said the old man aside. "Did you no-
CROSSING THE LINE 469
tice the nursemaid's look of terror? It was simply per-
fear
"You have struck quite a new vein," I said. "To most
of us Life and its pleasures seem like a mine that is nearly
worked out."
"Worked out!" exclaimed the Earl. "For any one with
true dramatic instincts, it is only the Overture that is end-
ed! The real treat has yet to begin. You go to a theatre,
and pay your ten shillings for a stall, and what do you get
for your money ? Perhaps it's a dialogue between a couple
of farmers — unnatural in their overdone caricature of
farmers' dress — more unnatural in their constrained atti-
tudes and gestures — most unnatural in their attempts at
ease and geniality in their talk. Go instead and take a seat
in a third-class railway-carriage, and you'll get the same
dialogue done to the life! Front-seats — no orchestra to
block the view — and nothing to pay!"
"Which reminds me," said Eric. "There is nothing to
pay on receiving a telegram! Shall we enquire for one?"
And he and Lady Muriel strolled off in the direction of
the Telegraph-Office.
"I wonder if Shakespeare had that thought in his
mind," I said, "when he wrote *A11 the world's a stage'?"
The old man sighed. "And so it is," he said, "look at it
as you will. Life is indeed a drama; a drama with but few
encores — and no bouquets!'' he added dreamily. "We
spend one half of it in regretting the things we did in the
other half!"
"And the secret of enjoying it," he continued, resuming
his cheerful tone, "is intensity!''
"But not in the modern aesthetic sense, I presume? Like
the young lady, in Punch, who begins a conversation with
*Are you intense?' "
47^ SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"By no means!" replied the Earl. "What I mean is in-
tensity of thought — a concentrated attention. We lose half
the pleasure we might have in Life, by not really attend-
ing. Take any instance you like: it doesn't matter how
trivial the pleasure may be — the principle is the same. Sup-
pose A and B are reading the same second-rate circulat-
ing-library novel. A never troubles himself to master the
relationships of the characters, on which perhaps all the
interest of the story depends: he 'skips' over all the de-
scriptions of scenery, and every passage that looks rather
dull: he doesn't half attend to the passages he does read:
he goes on reading — merely from want of resolution to
find another occupation — for hours after he ought to have
put the book aside: and reaches the 'finis' in a state of
utter weariness and depression! B puts his whole soul
into the thing — on the principle that 'whatever is worth
doing is worth doing weW : he masters the genealogies : he
calls up pictures before his 'mind's eye' as he reads about
the scenery : best of all, he resolutely shuts the book at the
end of some chapter, while his interest is yet at its keenest,
and turns to other subjects; so that, when next he allows
himself an hour at it, it is like a hungry man sitting down
to dinner: and, when the book is finished, he returns to
the work of his daily life like 'a giant refreshed'!"
"But suppose the book were really rubbish — nothing to
repay attention?"
"Well, suppose it," said the Earl. "My theory meets that
case, I assure you! A never finds out that it is rubbish, but
maunders on to the end, trying to believe he's enjoying
himself. B quietly shuts the book, when he's read a dozen
pages, walks of? to the Library, and changes it for a bet-
ter! I have yet another theory for adding to the enjoyment
of Life — that is, if I have not exhausted your patience?
I'm afraid you find me a very garrulous old man."
CROSSING THE LINE 47I
"No indeed!" I exclaimed earnesdy. And indeed I felt
as if one could not easily tire of the sweet sadness of that
gentle voice.
"It is, that we should learn to take our pleasures quickj
ly, and our pains slowly,''
"But why? I should have put it the other way, myself."
"By taking artificial pain — which can be as trivial as
you please — slowly, the result is that, when real pain
comes, however severe, all you need do is to let it go at its
ordinary pace, and it's over in a moment!"
"Very true," I said, "but how about the pleasure?''
"Why, by taking it quick, you can get so much more
into life. It takes you three hours and a half to hear and
enjoy an opera. Suppose / can take it in, and enjoy it, in
half-an-hour. Why, I can enjoy seven operas, while you
are listening to onel"
"Always supposing you have an orchestra capable of
playing them," I said. "And that orchestra has yet to be
found!"
The old man smiled. "I have heard an air played," he
said, "and by no means a short one — played right through,
variations and all, in three seconds!"
"When? And how?" I asked eagerly, with a half-notion
that I was dreaming again.
"It was done by a little musical-box," he quietly replied.
"After it had been wound up, the regulator, or something,
broke, and it ran down, as I said, in about three seconds.
But it must have played all the notes, you know!"
"Did you enjoy it?" I asked, with all the severity of a
cross-examining barrister.
"No, I didn't!" he candidly confessed. "But then, you
know, I hadn't been trained to that kind of music!"
"I should much like to try your plan," I said, and, as
Sylvie and Bruno happened to run up to us at the mo-
47^ SYLVIE AND BRUNO
ment, I left them to keep the Earl company, and strolled
along the platform, making each person and event play
its part in an extempore drama for my especial benefit.
"What, is the Earl tired of you already?" I said, as the
children ran past me.
"No!" Sylvie replied with great emphasis. "He wants
the evening-paper. So Bruno's going to be a little news-
boy!"
"Mind you charge a good price for it!" I called after
them.
Returning up the platform, I came upon Sylvie alone.
"Well, child," I said, "where's your little news-boy?
Couldn't he get you an evening-paper?"
"He went to get one at the book-stall at the other side,"
said Sylvie; "and he's coming across the line with it — oh,
Bruno, you ought to cross by the bridge!" for the distant
thud, thud, of the Express was already audible. Sudden-
ly a look of horror came over her face. "Oh, he's fallen
down on the rails!" she cried, and darted past me at a
speed that quite defied the hasty effort I made to stop her.
But the wheezy old Station-Master happened to be close
behind me: he wasn't good for much, poor old man, but
he was good for this; and, before I could turn round, he
had the child clasped in his arms, saved from the certain
death she was rushing to. So intent was I in watching this
scene, that I hardly saw a flying figure in a light grey suit,
who shot across from the back of the platform, and was
on the line in another second. So far as one could take
note of time in such a moment of horror, he had about ten
clear seconds, before the Express would be upon him, in
which to cross the rails and to pick up Bruno. Whether he
did so or not it was quite impossible to guess: the next
thing one knew was that the Express had passed, and that,
CROSSING THE LINE 473
whether for Hfe or death, all was over. When the cloud o£
dust had cleared away, and the line was once more visible,
we saw with thankful hearts that the child and his de-
liverer were safe.
"All right!" Eric called to us cheerfully, as he recrossed
the line. "He's more frightened than hurt!"
He lifted the little fellow up into Lady Muriel's arms,
and mounted the platform as gaily as if nothing had hap-
pened : but he was as pale as death, and leaned heavily on
the arm I hastily oflfered him, fearing he was about to
faint. "I'll just — sit down a moment — " he said dreamily:
" — where's Sylvie?"
Sylvie ran to him, and flung her arms round his neck,
sobbing as if her heart would break. "Don't do that, my
darling!" Eric murmured, with a strange look in his eyes.
"Nothing to cry about now, you know. But you very
nearly got yourself killed for nothing!"
"For Bruno!" the little maiden sobbed. "And he would
have done it for me. Wouldn't you, Bruno?"
"Course I would!" Bruno said, looking round with a
bewildered air.
Lady Muriel kissed him in silence as she put him down
out of her arms. Then she beckoned Sylvie to come and
take his hand, and signed to the children to go back to
where the Earl was seated. "Tell him," she whispered with
quivering lips, "tell him — all is well!" Then she turned to
the hero of the day. "I thought it was death^' she said.
"Thank God, you are safe! Did you see how near it was?"
"I saw there was just time," Eric said lightly. "A soldier
must learn to carry his life in his hand, you know. I'm all
right now. Shall we go to the telegraph-office again? I
daresay it's come by this time."
I went to join the Earl and the children, and we waited
474 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
— almost in silence, for no one seemed inclined to talk,
and Bruno was half-asleep on Sylvie's lap — till the others
joined us. No telegram had come.
"I'll take a stroll with the children," I said, feeling that
we were a little de trop^ "and I'll look in, in the course of
the evening."
"We must go back into the wood, now," Sylvie said, as
soon as we were out of hearing. "We ca'n't stay this size
any longer."
"Then you will be quite tiny Fairies, again, next time
we meet?"
"Yes," said Sylvie: "but we'll be children again some
day — if you'll let us. Bruno's very anxious to see Lady
Muriel again."
"She are welly nice," said Bruno.
"I shall be very glad to take you to see her again," I said.
"Hadn't I better give you back the Professor's Watch?
It'll be too large for you to carry when you're Fairies, you
know."
Bruno laughed merrily. I was glad to see he had quite
recovered from the terrible scene he had gone through.
"Oh, no, it won't!" he said. "When we go small, it'll go
small!"
"And then it'll go straight to the Professor," Sylvie add-
ed, "and you won't be able to use it any more: so you'd
better use it all you can, now. We must go small when the
sun sets. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye!" cried Bruno. But their voices sounded very
far away, and, when I looked round, both children had
disappeared.
"And it wants only two hours to sunset!" I said as I
strolled on. "I must make the best of my time!"
Chapter XXIII
An Outlandish Watch
A s I entered the Httle town, I came upon two of the fish-
ermen's wives interchanging that last word "which never
was the last": and it occurred to me, as an experiment
with the Magic Watch, to wait till the little scene was
over, and then to "encore" it.
"Well, good night t'ye! And ye winna forget to send
us word when your Martha writes?"
"Nay, ah winna forget. An' if she isn't suited, she can
but coom back. Good night t'ye!"
A casual observer might have thought "and there ends
the dialogue!" That casual observer would have been mis-
taken.
"Ah, she'll like 'em, I war'n' ye! They'll not treat her
bad, yer may depend. They're varry canny fowk. Good
night!"
"Ay, they are that! Good night!"
"Good night! And ye'U send us word if she writes?"
"Aye, ah will, yer may depend! Good night t'ye!"
And at last they parted. I waited till they were some
twenty yards apart, and then put the Watch a minute
back. The instantaneous change was startling: the two
figures seemed to flash back into their former places.
" — isn't suited, she can but coom back. Good night
t'ye!" one of them was saying: and so the whole dialogue
was repeated, and, when they had parted for the second
time, I let them go their several ways, and strolled on
through the town.
"But the real usefulness of this magic power," I thought,
"would be to undo some harm, some painful event, some
475
476 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
accident — " I had not long to wait for an opportunity of
testing this property also of the Magic Watch, for, even as
the thought passed through my mind, the accident I was
imagining occurred. A light cart was standing at the door
of the "Great Millinery Depot" of Elveston, laden with
card-board packing-cases, which the driver was carrying
into the shop, one by one. One of the cases had fallen into
the street, but it scarcely seemed worth while to step for-
ward and pick it up, as the man would be back again in a
moment. Yet, in that moment, a young man riding a bi-
cycle came sharp round the corner of the street and, in
trying to avoid running over the box, upset his machine,
and was thrown headlong against the wheel of the spring-
cart. The driver ran out to his assistance, and he and I
together raised the unfortunate cyclist and carried him in-
to the shop. His head was cut and bleeding; and one
knee seemed to be badly injured; and it was speedily
settled that he had better be conveyed at once to the only
Surgery in the place. I helped them in emptying the cart,
and placing in it some pillows for the wounded man to
rest on; and it was only when the driver had mounted to
his place, and was starting for the Surgery, that I be-
thought me of the strange power I possessed of undoing
all this harm.
"Now is my time!" I said to myself, as I moved back the
hand of the Watch, and saw, almost without surprise this
time, all things restored to the places they had occupied at
the critical moment when I had first noticed the fallen
packing-case.
Instantly I stepped out into the street, picked up the
box, and replaced it In the cart: in the next moment the
bicycle had spun round the corner, passed the cart with-
out let or hindrance, and soon vanished in the distance,
in a cloud of dust.
AN OUTLANDISH WATCH 477
"Delightful power of magic!" I thought. "How much
of human suffering I have — not only relieved, but actually
annihilated!" And, in a glow of conscious virtue, I stood
watching the unloading of the cart, still holding the Ma-
gic Watch open in my hand, as I was curious to see what
would happen when we again reached the exact time at
which I had put back the hand.
The result was one that, if only I had considered the
thing carefully, I might have foreseen : as the hand of the
Watch touched the mark, the spring-cart — which had
driven off, and was by this time half-way down the street,
was back again at the door, and in the act of starting,
while — oh woe for the golden dream of world-wide
benevolence that had dazzled my dreaming fancy! — the
wounded youth was once more reclining on the heap of
pillows, his pale face set rigidly in the hard lines that told
of pain resolutely endured.
"Oh mocking Magic Watch!" I said to myself, as I
passed out of the little town, and took the seaward road
that led to my lodgings. "The good I fancied I could do is
vanished like a dream : the evil of this troublesome world
is the only abiding reality!"
And now I must record an experience so strange, that I
think it only fair, before beginning to relate it, to release
my much-enduring reader from any obligation he may
feel to believe this part of my story. / would not have be-
lieved it, I freely confess, if I had not seen it with my own
eyes : then why should I expect it of my reader, who, quite
possibly, has never seen anything of the sort?
I was passing a pretty little villa, which stood rather
back from the road, in its own grounds, with bright flow-
er-beds in front — creepers wandering over the walls and
hanging in festoons about the bow-windows — an easy-
chair forgotten on the lawn, with a newspaper lying near
478 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
it — a small pug-dog "couchant" before it, resolved to
guard the treasure even at the sacrifice of life — and a front-
door standing invitingly half-open. "Here is my chance,"
I thought, "for testing the reverse action of the Magic
Watch!" I pressed the "reversal-peg" and v^alked in. In
another house, the entrance of a stranger might cause sur-
prise— perhaps anger, even going so far as to expel the said
stranger with violence: but here^ I knew, nothing of the
sort could happen. The ordinary course of events— ^first, to
think nothing about me; then, hearing my footsteps to
look up and see me; and then to wonder what business I
had there — would be reversed by the action of my Watch.
They would first wonder who I was, then see me, then
look down, and think no more about me. And as to being
expelled with violence, that event would necessarily come
first in this case. "So, if I can once get /V2," I said to myself,
"all risk of expulsion will be over!"
The pug-dog sat up, as a precautionary measure, as I
passed; but, as I took no notice of the treasure he was
guarding, he let me go by without even one remonstrant
bark. "He that takes my life," he seemed to be saying,
wheezily, to himself, "takes trash: But he that takes the
Daily Telegraph — !" But this awful contingency I did not
face.
The party in the drawing-room — I had walked straight
in, you understand, without ringing the bell, or giving
any notice of my approach — consisted of four laughing
rosy children, of ages from about fourteen down to ten,
who were, apparently, all coming towards the door (I
found they were really walking backwards) ^ while their
mother, seated by the fire with some needlework on her
lap, was saying, just as I entered the room, "Now, girls,
you may get your things on for a walk."
To my utter astonishment — for I was not yet accustom-
AN OUTLANDISH WATCH 479
ed to the action of the Watch — "all smiles ceased" (as
Browning says) on the four pretty faces, and they all got
out pieces of needle-work, and sat down. No one noticed
me in the least, as I quietly took a chair and sat down to
watch them.
When the needle-work had been unfolded, and they
were all ready to begin, their mother said "Come, that's
done, at last! You may fold up your work, girls." But the
children took no notice whatever of the remark; on the
contrary, they set to work at once sewing — if that is the
proper word to describe an operation such as / had never
before witnessed. Each of them threaded her needle with
a short end of thread attached to the work, which was in-
stantly pulled by an invisible force through the stufJ, drag-
ging the needle after it: the nimble fingers of the little
sempstress caught it at the other side, but only to lose it
again the next moment. And so the work went on, steadi-
ly undoing itself, and the neatly-stitched little dresses, or
whatever they were, steadily falling to pieces. Now and
then one of the children would pause, as the recovered
thread became inconveniently long, wind it on a bobbin,
and start again with another short end.
At last all the work was picked to pieces and put away,
and the lady led the way into the next room, walking
backwards, and making the insane remark "Not yet,
dear: we must get the sewing done first." After which, I
was not surprised to see the children skipping backwards
after her, exclaiming "Oh, mother, it is such a lovely day
for a walk!"
In the dining-room, the table had only dirty plates and
empty dishes on it. However the party — with the addition
of a gentleman, as good-natured, and as rosy, as the chil-
dren— seated themselves at it very contentedly.
You have seen people eating cherry-tart, and every now
480 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
and then cautiously conveying a cherry-stone from their
Ups to their plates ? Well, something like that went on all
through this ghastly — or shall we say "ghostly"? — ban-
quet. An empty fork is raised to the lips: there it receives
a neatly-cut piece of mutton, and swiftly conveys it to the
plate, where it instantly attaches itself to the mutton al-
ready there. Soon one of the plates, furnished with a com-
plete slice of mutton and two potatoes, was handed up to
the presiding gentleman, who quietly replaced the slice on
the joint, and the potatoes in the dish.
Their conversation was, if possible, more bewildering
than their mode of dining. It began by the youngest girl
suddenly, and without provocation, addressing her eldest
sister. "Oh, you wicked story-teller!" she said.
I expected a sharp reply from the sister; but, instead of
this, she turned laughingly to her father, and said, in a
very loud stage-whisper, "To be a bride!"
The father, in order to do his part in a conversation that
seemed only fit for lunatics, replied "Whisper it to me,
dear."
But she didnt whisper (these children never did any-
thing they were told) : she said, quite loud, "Of course
not! Everybody knows what Dolly wants!"
And little Dolly shrugged her shoulders, and said, with
a pretty pettishness, "Now, Father, you're not to tease!
You know I don't want to be bride's-maid to anybody!''
"And Dolly's to be the fourth," was her father's idiotic
reply.
Here Number Three put in her oar. "Oh, it is settled,
Mother dear, really and truly! Mary told us all about it.
It's to be next Tuesday four weeks — and three of her cou-
sins are coming to be bride's-maids — and — "
''She doesn't forget it Minnie!" the Mother laughingly
AN OUTLANDISH WATCH 481
replied. "I do wish they'd get it settled! I don't like long
engagements."
And Minnie wound up the conversation — if so chaotic a
series o£ remarks deserves the name — with "Only think!
We passed the Cedars this morning, just exactly as Mary
Davenant was standing at the gate, wishing good-bye to
Mister — I forget his name. Of course we looked the other
way."
By this time I was so hopelessly confused that I gave up
listening, and followed the dinner down into the kitchen.
But to you, O hypercritical reader, resolute to believe
no item of this weird adventure, what need to tell how the
mutton was placed on the spit, and slowly unroasted —
how the potatoes were wrapped in their skins, and handed
over to the gardener to be buried — how, when the mutton
had at length attained to rawness, the fire, which had
gradually changed from red-heat to a mere blaze, died
down so suddenly that the cook had only just time to
catch its last flicker on the end of a match — or how the
maid, having taken the mutton off the spit, carried it
(backwards, of course) out of the house, to meet the
butcher, who was coming (also backwards) down the
road ?
The longer I thought over this strange adventure, the
more hopelessly tangled the mystery became : and it was a
real relief to meet Arthur in the road, and get him to go
with me up to the Hall, to learn what news the telegraph
had brought. I told him, as we went, what had happened
at the Station, but as to my further adventures I thought
it best, for the present, to say nothing.
The Earl was sitting alone when we entered. "I am glad
you are come in to keep me company," he said. "Muriel is
gone to bed — the excitement of that terrible scene was too
482 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
much for her — and Eric has gone to the hotel to pack his
things, to start for London by the early train."
"Then the telegram has come?" I said.
"Did you not hear? Oh, I had forgotten: it came in af-
ter you left the Station. Yes, it's all right: Eric has got his
commission ; and, now that he has arranged matters with
Muriel, he has business in town that must be seen to at
once."
"What arrangement do you mean?" I asked with a
sinking heart, as the thought of Arthur's crushed hopes
came to my mind. "Do you mean that they are engaged?''
"They have been engaged — in a sense — for two years,"
the old man gently replied: "that is, he has had my pro-
mise to consent to it, so soon as he could secure a perma-
nent and settled line in life. I could never be happy with
my child married to a man without an object to live for
— without even an object to die for!"
"I hope they will be happy," a strange voice said. The
speaker was evidently in the room, but I had not heard
the door open, and I looked around in some astonishment.
The Earl seemed to share my surprise. "Who spoke?" he
exclaimed.
"It was I," said Arthur, looking at us with a worn, hag-
gard face, and eyes from which the light of life seemed
suddenly to have faded. "And let me wish you joy also,
dear friend," he added, looking sadly at the Earl, and
speaking in the same hollow tones that had startled us so
much.
"Thank you," the old man said, simply and heartily.
A silence followed: then I rose, feeling sure that Arthur
would wish to be alone, and bade our gentle host "Good
night": Arthur took his hand, but said nothing: nor did
he speak again, as we went home, till we were in the
house and had lit our bed-room candles. Then he said,
{
AN OUTLANDISH WATCH 483
more to himself than to me, ''The heart \noweth its own
bitterness, I never understood those words till now."
The next few days passed wearily enough. I felt no in-
clination to call again, by myself, at the Hall; still less to
propose that Arthur should go with me: it seemed better
to wait till Time — that gentle healer of our bitterest sor-
rows— should have helped him to recover from the first
shock of the disappointment that had blighted his life.
Business, however, soon demanded my presence in
town; and I had to announce to Arthur that I must leave
him for a while. "But I hope to run down again in a
month," I added. "I would stay now, if I could. I don't
think it's good for you to be alone."
"No, I ca'n't face solitude, here^ for long," said Arthur.
"But don't think about me, I have made up my mind to
accept a post in India, that has been oflfered me. Out there,
I suppose I shall find something to live for; I ca'n't see
anything at present. 'This life of mine 1 guard, as God's
high gift, from scathe and wrong, Not greatly care to
lose!' "
"Yes," I said: "your name-sake bore as heavy a blow,
and lived through it."
"A far heavier one than mine^'' said Arthur. "The wo-
man he loved proved false. There is no such cloud as that
on my memory of — of — " He left the name unuttered,
and went on hurriedly. "But you will return, will you
not?"
'Yes, I shall come back for a short time."
'Do," said Arthur: "and you shall write and tell me of
our friends. I'll send you my address when I'm settled
down."
a-
tc
Chapter XXIV
The Frogs' Birthday-Treat
And so it came to pass that, just a week after the day
when my Fairy-friends first appeared as Children, I found
myself taking a farewell-stroll through the wood, in the
hope of meeting them once more. I had but to stretch my-
self on the smooth turf, and the "eerie" feeling was on me
in a moment.
"Put oor ear welly low down," said Bruno, "and I'll tell
00 a secret! It's the Frogs' Birthday-Treat — and we've lost
the Baby!"
''What Baby?" I said, quite bewildered by this compli-
cated piece of news.
"The Queen s Baby, a course!" said Bruno. "Titania's
Baby. And we's welly sorry. Sylvie, she's — oh so sorry!"
''How sorry is she?" I asked, mischievously.
"Three-quarters of a yard," Bruno replied with perfect
solemnity. "And Fm a little sorry too," he added, shutting
his eyes so as not to see that he was smiling.
"And what are you doing about the Baby?"
"Well, the soldiers are all looking for it — up and down
• — everywhere."
"The soldiers?'' I exclaimed.
"Yes, a course!" said Bruno. "When there's no fighting
to be done, the soldiers doos any little odd jobs, oo know."
I was amused at the idea of its being a "little odd job" to
find the Royal Baby. "But how did you come to lose it?"
1 asked.
"We put it in a flower," Sylvie, who had just joined us,
explained with her eyes full of tears. "Only we ca'n't re-
member whichr
484
THE frogs' birthday-treat 485
"She says us put it in a flower," Bruno interrupted,
" 'cause she doesn't want / to get punished. But it were
really me what put it there. Sylvie were picking Dindle-
dums."
"You shouldn't say 'us put it in a flower'," Sylvie very
gravely remarked.
"Well, hus, then," said Bruno. "I never can remember
those horrid H's!"
"Let me help you to look for it," I said. So Sylvie and I
made a "voyage of discovery" among all the flowers; but
there was no Baby to be seen.
"What's become of Bruno?" I said, when we had com-
pleted our tour.
"He's down in the ditch there," said Sylvie, "amusing a
young Frog."
I went down on my hands and knees to look for him,
for I felt very curious to know how young Frogs ought to
be amused. After a minute's search, I found him sitting at
the edge of the ditch, by the side of the little Frog, and
looking rather disconsolate.
"How are you getting on, Bruno?" I said, nodding to
him as he looked up.
"Ca'n't amuse it no more," Bruno answered, very dole-
fully, " 'cause it wo'n't say what it would like to do next!
I've showed it all the duck-weeds — and a live caddis-
worm — but it wo'n't say nuffin! What — would 00 — like?"
he shouted into the ear of the Frog: but the little' creature
sat quite still, and took no notice of him. "It's deaf, I
think!" Bruno said, turning away with a sigh. "And it's
time to get the Theatre ready."
"Who are the audience to be?"
"Only but Frogs," said Bruno. "But they haven't comed
yet. They wants to be drove up, like sheep."
486 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"Would it save time," I suggested, "i£ / were to walk
round with Sylvie, to drive up the Frogs, while you get
the Theatre ready?"
"That are a good plan!" cried Bruno. "But where are
Sylvie?"
"Fm here!" said Sylvie, peeping over the edge of the
bank. "I was just watching two Frogs that were having a
race.
"Which won it?" Bruno eagerly inquired.
Sylvie was puzzled. "He does ask such hard questions!'*
she confided to me.
"And what's to happen in the Theatre?" I asked.
"First they have their Birthday-Feast," Sylvie said:
"then Bruno does some Bits of Shakespeare; then he tells
them a Story."
"I should think the Frogs like the Feast best. Don't
they?"
"Well, there's generally very few of them that get any.
They will keep their mouths shut so tight! And it's just as
well they <^o," she added, "because Bruno likes to cook it
himself: and he cooks very queerly. Now they're all in.
Would you just help me to put them with their heads the
right way?"
We soon managed this part of the business, though the
Frogs kept up a most discontented croaking all the time.
"What are they saying?" I asked Sylvie.
"They're saying 'Fork! Fork!' It's very silly of them!
You're not going to have forks!" she announced with
some severity. "Those that want any Feast have just got to
open their mouths, and Bruno'll put some of it in!"
At this moment Bruno appeared, wearing a little white
apron to show that he was a Cook, and carrying a tureen
full of very queer-looking soup. I watched very carefully
as he moved about among the Frogs; but I could not see
THE frogs' birthday-treat 487
that any o£ them opened their mouths to be fed — except
one very young one, and I'm nearly sure it did it acciden-
tally, in yawning. However Bruno instantly put a large
spoonful of soup into its mouth, and the poor little thing
coughed violently for some time.
So Sylvie and I had to share the soup between us, and
to pretend to enjoy it, for it certainly was very queerly
cooked.
I only ventured to take one spoonful of it ("Sylvie's
Summer-Soup," Bruno said it was), and must candidly
confess that it was not at all nice; and I could not feel sur-
prised that so many guests had kept their mouths shut up
tight.
"What's the soup made of, Bruno?" said Sylvie, who
had put a spoonful of it to her lips, and was making a wry
face over it.
And Bruno's answer was anything but encouraging.
"Bits of things!"
The entertainment was to conclude with "Bits of Shake-
speare," as Sylvie expressed it, which were all to be done
by Bruno, Sylvie being fully engaged in making the Frogs
keep their heads towards the stage: after which Bruno
was to appear in his real character, and tell them a Story
of his own invention.
"Will the Story have a Moral to it?" I asked Sylvie,
while Bruno was away behind the hedge, dressing for the
first "Bit."
"I thin\ so," Sylvie replied doubtfully. "There generally
is a Moral, only he puts it in too soon."
"And will he say all the Bits of Shakespeare?"
"No, he'll only act them," said Sylvie. "He knows hard-
ly any of the words. When I see what he's dressed like,
I've to tell the Frogs what character it is. They're always
in such a hurry to guess! Don't you hear them all saying
488 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
'What? What?'" And so indeed they were: it had only
sounded Hke croaking, till Sylvie explained it, but I could
now make out the "Wawt? Wawt?" quite distinctly.
"But why do they try to guess it before they see it?"
*'I don't know," Sylvie said: "but they always do. Some-
times they begin guessing weeks and weeks before the
day!"
(So now, when you hear the Frogs croaking in a par-
ticularly melancholy way, you may be sure they're trying
to guess Bruno's next Shakespeare "Bit". Isn't that inter-
esting ? )
However, the chorus of guessing was cut short by
Bruno, who suddenly rushed on from behind the scenes,
and took a flying leap down among the Frogs, to re-
arrange them.
For the oldest and fattest Frog — who had never been
properly arranged so that he could see the stage, and so
had no idea what was going on — was getting restless, and
had upset several of the Frogs, and turned others round
with their heads the wrong way. And it was no good at
all, Bruno said, to do a "Bit" of Shakespeare when there
was nobody to look at it (you see he didn't count me as
anybody). So he set to work with a stick, stirring them
up, very much as you would stir up tea in a cup, till most
of them had at least one great stupid eye gazing at the
stage.
"Oo must come and sit among them, Sylvie," he said in
despair, "I've put these two side-by-side, with their noses
the same way, ever so many times, but they do squarrel
so!"
So Sylvie took her place as "Mistress of the Cere-
monies," and Bruno vanished again behind the scenes, to
dress for the first "Bit."
"Hamlet!" was suddenly proclaimed, in the clear sweet
THE frogs' birthday-treat 489
tones I knew so well. The croaking all ceased in a mo-
ment, and I turned to the stage, in some curiosity to see
what Bruno's ideas were as to the behaviour of Shake-
speare's greatest Character.
According to this eminent interpreter of the Drama,
Hamlet wore a short black cloak (which he chiefly used
for muffling up his face, as if he suffered a good deal from
toothache), and turned out his toes very much as he walk-
ed. "To be or not to be!" Hamlet remarked in a cheerful
tone, and then turned head-over-heels several times, his
cloak dropping oflf in the performance.
I felt a little disappointed: Bruno's conception of the
part seemed so wanting in dignity. "Wo'n't he say any
more of the speech?" I whispered to Sylvie.
"I thin\ not," Sylvie whispered in reply. "He generally
turns head-over-heels when he doesn't know any more
words."
Bruno had meanwhile settled the question by disappear-
ing from the stage; and the Frogs instantly began inquir-
ing the name of the next Character.
"You'll know directly!" cried Sylvie, as she adjusted
two or three young Frogs that had struggled round with
their backs to the stage. "Macbeth!" she added, as Bruno
re-appeared.
Macbeth had something twisted round him, that went
over one shoulder and under the other arm, and was
meant, I believe, for a Scotch plaid. He had a thorn in his
hand, which he held out at arm's length, as if he were a
little afraid of it. "Is this a dagger?'' Macbeth inquired, in
a puzzled sort of tone: and instantly a chorus of "Thorn!
Thorn!" arose from the Frogs (I had quite learned to
understand their croaking by this time).
"It's a dagger!'' Sylvie proclaimed in a peremptory tone.
"Hold your tongues!" and the croaking ceased at once.
49^ SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Shakespeare has not told us, so far as I know, that Mac-
beth had any such eccentric habit as turning head-over-
heels in private life: but Bruno evidently considered it
quite an essential part of the character, and left the stage
in a series of somersaults. However, he was back again in
a few moments, having tucked under his chin the end of
a tuft of wool (probably left on the thorn by a wandering
sheep), which made a magnificent beard, that reached
nearly down to his feet.
"Shylock!" Sylvie proclaimed. "No, I beg your par-
don!" she hastily corrected herself, "King Lear! I hadn't
noticed the crown." (Bruno had very cleverly provided
one, which fitted him exactly, by cutting out the centre of
a dandelion to make room for his head.)
King Lear folded his arms (to the imminent peril of
his beard) and said, in a mild explanatory tone, ''Ay, every
inch a king!" and then paused, as if to consider how this
could best be proved. And here, with all possible defer-
ence to Bruno as a Shakespearian critic, I must express my
opinion that the poet did not mean his three great tragic
heroes to be so strangely alike in their personal habits; nor
do I believe that he would have accepted the faculty of
turning head-over-heels as any proof at all of royal des-
cent. Yet it appeared that King Lear, after deep medita-
tion, could think of no other argument by which to prove
his kingship: and, as this was the last of the "Bits" of
Shakespeare ("We never do more than three^' Sylvie ex-
plained in a whisper), Bruno gave the audience quite a
long series of somersaults before he finally retired, leaving
the enraptured Frogs all crying out "More! More!" which
I suppose was their way of encoring a performance. But
Bruno wouldn't appear again, till the proper time came
for telling the Story.
When he appeared at last in his real character, I noticed
THE FROGS BIRTHDAY-TREAT 49I
a remarkable change in his behaviour. He tried no more
somersaults. It was clearly his opinion that, however suit-
able the habit o£ turning head-over-heels might be to such
petty individuals as Hamlet and King Lear, it would
never do for Bruno to sacrifice his dignity to such an ex-
tent. But it was equally clear that he did not feel entirely
at his ease, standing all alone on the stage, with no cos-
tume to disguise him : and though he began, several times,
"There were a Mouse — ," he kept glancing up and down,
and on all sides, as if in search of more comfortable quar-
ters from which to tell the Story. Standing on one side of
the stage, and partly overshadowing it, was a tall fox-
glove, which seemed, as the evening breeze gently swayed
it hither and thither, to offer exactly the sort of accommo-
dation that the orator desired. Having once decided on his
quarters, it needed only a second or two for him to run up
the stem like a tiny squirrel, and to seat himself astride on
the topmost bend, where the fairy-bells clustered most
closely, and from whence he could look down on his au-
dience from such a height that all shyness vanished, and
he began his Story merrily.
"Once there were a Mouse and a Crocodile and a Man
and a Goat and a Lion." I had never heard the "dramatis
persona:" tumbled into a story with such profusion and in
such reckless haste; and it fairly took my breath away.
Even Sylvie gave a little gasp, and allowed three of the
Frogs, who seemed to be getting tired of the entertain-
ment, to hop away into the ditch, without attempting to
stop them.
"And the Mouse found a Shoe, and it thought it were a
Mouse-trap. So it got right in, and it stayed in ever so
long"
"Why did it stay in?" said Sylvie. Her function seemed
to be much the same as that of the Chorus in a Greek
492 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
Play: she had to encourage the orator, and draw him out,
by a series of inteUigent questions.
" 'Cause it thought it couldn't get out again," Bruno ex-
plained. "It were a clever mouse. It knew it couldn't get
out of traps!"
"But why did it go in at all?" said Sylvie.
" — and it jamp, and it jamp," Bruno proceeded, ignor-
ing this question, "and at last it got right out again. And
it looked at the mark in the Shoe. And the Man's name
were in it. So it knew it wasn't its own Shoe."
"Had it thought it was?'' said Sylvie.
"Why, didn't I tell oo it thought it were a Mouse-trap?'"
the indignant orator replied. "Please, Mister Sir, will oo
make Sylvie attend?" Sylvie was silenced, and was all at-
tention : in fact, she and I were most of the audience now,
as the Frogs kept hopping away, and there were very few
of them left.
"So the Mouse gave the Man his Shoe. And the Man
were welly glad, 'cause he hadn't got but one Shoe, and
he were hopping to get the other."
Here I ventured on a question. "Do you mean 'hopp-
ing,' or 'hoping'?"
"Bofe," said Bruno. "And the Man took the Goat out of
the Sack." ("We haven't heard of the sacl{ before," I said.
"Nor you wo'n't hear of it again," said Bruno). "And he
said to the Goat, *Oo will walk about here till I comes
back.' And he went and he tumbled into a deep hole. And
the Goat walked round and round. And it walked under
the Tree. And it wug its tail. And it looked up in the
Tree. And it sang a sad little Song. Oo never heard such
a sad little Song!"
"Can you sing it, Bruno?" I asked.
"Iss, I can," Bruno readily replied. "And I sa'n't. It
would make Sylvie cry — "
THE frogs' birthday-treat 493
"It wouldn't!" Sylvie interrupted in great indignation.
"And I don't believe the Goat sang it at all!"
"It did, though!" said Bruno. "It singed it right froo. I
sawed it singing with its long beard — "
"It couldn't sing with its beard,'' I said, hoping to puz-
zle the little fellow: "a beard isn't a voiced
"Well then, 00 couldn't walk with Sylvie!" Bruno cried
triumphantly. "Sylvie isn't a jootr
I thought I had better follow Sylvie's example, and be
silent for a while. Bruno was too sharp for us.
"And when it had singed all the Song, it ran away—
for to get along to look for the Man, 00 know. And the
Crocodile got along after it— for to bite it, 00 know. And
the Mouse got along after the Crocodile."
"Wasn't the Crocodile running?'' Sylvie enquired. She
appealed to me. "Crocodiles do run, don't they?"
I suggested "crawling" as the proper word.
"He wasn't running," said Bruno, "and he wasn't
crawling. He went struggling along like a portmanteau.
And he held his chin ever so high in the air—"
"What did he do that for?" said Sylvie.
" 'cause he hadn't got a toofache!" said Bruno. "Ca'n't
00 make out nuffin wizout I 'splain it? Why, if he'd had a
toofache, a course he'd have held his head down— like this
—and he'd have put a lot of warm blankets round it!"
"If he'd had any blankets," Sylvie argued.
"Course he had blankets!" retorted her brother. "Doos
00 think Crocodiles goes walks wizout blankets ? And he
frowned with his eyebrows. And the Goat was welly
flightened at his eyebrows!"
"I'd never be afraid of eyebrows!" exclaimed Sylvie.
"I should think 00 would, though, if they'd got a Cro-
codile fastened to them, like these had! And so the Man
494 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
jamp, and he jamp, and at last he got right out of the
hole."
Sylvie gave another little gasp : this rapid dodging about
among the characters of the Story had taken away her
breath.
"And he runned away — for to look for the Goat, oo
know. And he heard the Lion grunting — "
"Lions don't grunt," said Sylvie.
"This one did," said Bruno. "And its mouth were like a
large cupboard. And it had plenty of room in its mouth.
And the Lion runned after the Man — for to eat him, oo
know. And the Mouse runned after the Lion."
"But the Mouse was running after the Crocodile^'' I
said: "he couldn't run after bothr
Bruno sighed over the density of his audience, but ex-
plained very patiently. "He did runned after bofe: 'cause
they went the same way! And first he caught the Croco-
dile, and then he didn't catch the Lion. And when he'd
caught the Crocodile, what doos oo think he did — 'cause
he'd got pincers in his pocket?"
"I ca'n't guess," said Sylvie.
"Nobody couldn't guess it!" Bruno cried in high glee.
"Why, he wrenched out that Crocodile's toof!"
''Which tooth?" I ventured to ask.
But Bruno was not to be puzzled. "The toof he were
going to bite the Goat with, a course!"
"He couldn't be sure about that," I argued, "unless he
wrenched out all its teeth."
Bruno laughed merrily, and half sang, as he swung
himself backwards and forwards, "He did — wrenched —
out — all its teef !"
"Why did the Crocodile wait to have them wrenched
out?" said Sylvie.
"It had to wait," said Bruno.
THE FROGS BIRTHDAY-TREAT 495
I ventured on another question. "But what became of
the Man who said 'You may wait here till I come back'?"
"He didn't say 'Oo may^' " Bruno explained. "He said,
'Oo will' Just like Sylvie says to me 'Oo will do oor les-
sons till twelve o'clock.' Oh, I wiss'^' he added with a little
sigh, "I wiss Sylvie would say 'Oo may do oor lessons'!"
This was a dangerous subject for discussion, Sylvie
seemed to think. She returned to the Story. "But what be-
came of the Man?"
"Well, the Lion springed at him. But it came so slow, it
were three weeks in the air — "
"Did the Man wait for it all that time?" I said.
"Course he didn't!" Bruno replied, gliding head-first
down the stem of the fox-glove, for the Story was evident-
ly close to its end. "He sold his house, and he packed up
his things, while the Lion were coming. And he went and
he lived in another town. So the Lion ate the wrong man."
This was evidently the Moral : so Sylvie made her final
proclamation to the Frogs. "The Story's finished! And
whatever is to be learned from it," she added, aside to me,
"I'm sure / don't know!"
I did not feel quite clear about it myself, so made no
suggestion : but the Frogs seemed quite content. Moral or
no Moral, and merely raised a husky chorus of "Off!
Off!" as they hopped away.
Chapter XXV
Looking Eastward
"It's just a week/' I said, three days later, to Arthur,
"since we heard of Lady Muriel's engagement. I think /
ought to call, at any rate, and offer my congratulations.
Wo'n't you come with me?"
A pained expression passed over his face. "When must
you leave us?" he asked.
"By the first train on Monday."
"Well — yes, I will come with you. It would seem
strange and unfriendly if I didn't. But this is only Friday.
Give me till Sunday afternoon. I shall be stronger then."
Shading his eyes with one hand, as if half-ashamed of
the tears that were coursing down his cheeks, he held
the other out to me. It trembled as I clasped it.
I tried to frame some words of sympathy; but they
seemed poor and cold, and I left them unspoken. "Good
night!" was all I said.
"Good night, dear friend!" he replied. There was a
manly vigour in his tone that convinced me he was
wrestling with, and triumphing over, the great sorrow
that had so nearly wrecked his life — and that, on the
stepping-stone of his dead self, he would surely rise to
higher things!
There was no chance, I was glad to think, as we set
out on Sunday afternoon, of meeting Eric at the Hall,
as he had returned to town the day after his engagement
was announced. His presence might have disturbed the
calm — the almost unnatural calm — with which Arthur
met the woman who had won his heart, and murmured
the few graceful words of sympathy that the occasion de-
manded.
496
LOOKING EASTWARD 497
Lady Muriel was perfectly radiant with happiness:
sadness could not live in the light of such a smile: and
even Arthur brightened under it, and, when she remarked
"You see I'm watering my flowers, though it is the Sab-
bath-Day," his voice had almost its old ring of cheerful-
ness as he replied "Even on the Sabbath-Day works of
mercy are allowed. But this isn't the Sabbath-Day. The
Sabbath-Day has ceased to exist."
"I know it's not Saturday^'' Lady Muriel replied: "but
isn't Sunday often called 'the Christian Sabbath'?"
"It is so called, I think, in recognition of the spirit of
the Jewish institution, that one day in seven should be a
day of rest. But I hold that Christians are freed from the
literal observance of the Fourth Commandment."
"Then where is our authority for Sunday observance?"
"We have, first, the fact that the seventh day was
'sanctified', when God rested from the work of Creation.
That is binding on us as T heists. Secondly, we have the
fact that 'the Lord's Day' is a Christian institution. That
is binding on us as Christians^
"And your practical rules would be — ?"
"First, as Theists, to keep it holy in some special way,,
and to make it, so far as is reasonably possible, a day of
rest. Secondly, as Christians, to attend public worship."
"And what of amuse7nents?''
"I would say of them, as of all kinds of wor\^ what-
ever is innocent on a week-day, is innocent on Sunday,
provided it does not interfere with the duties of the day."
"Then you would allow children to play on Sunday?"
"Certainly I should. Why make the day irksome to
their restless natures?"
"I have a letter somewhere," said Lady Muriel, "from
an old friend, describing the way in which Sunday was
kept in her younger days. I will fetch it for you."
498 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
"I had a similar description, viva voce^ years ago," Ar-
thur said when she had left us, "from a little girl. It was
really touching to hear the melancholy tone in which she
said 'On Sunday I mustn't play with my doll! On Sun-
day I mustn't run on the sands! On Sunday I mustn't dig
in the garden!' Poor child! She had indeed abundant
cause for hating Sunday!"
"Plere is the letter," said Lady Muriel, returning. "Let
me read you a piece of it."
*'When, as a child, 1 first opened my eyes on a Sunday-
morning, a feeling of dismal anticipation, which began at
least on the Friday, culminated, I l^new tvhat was before
m.e, and my wish, if not my word, was * Would God it were
evening!' It was no day of rest, but a day of texts, of cate-
chisms {Watts'^, of tracts about converted swearers, godly
char-women, and edifying deaths of sinners saved,
*'Up with the lar\, hym,ns and portions of Scripture had
to be learned by heart till 8 ocloc\, when there were family-
prayers, then breakfast, which I was never able to enjoy,
partly from the fast already undergone, and partly from the
outloo\ I dreaded,
''At 9 came Sunday-School; and it made me indignant
to be put into the class with the village-children , as well as
alarmed lest, by some mistake of mine, I should be put be-
low them.
''The Church-Service was a veritable Wilderness of Zin.
I wandered in it, pitching the tabernacle of my thoughts on
the lining of the square family-pew, the fidgets of my small
brothers, and the horror of \nowing that, on the Monday, I
should have to write out, from memory, jottings of the
rambling disconnected extem,pore sermon, which might have
have any text but its own, and to stand or fall by the result.
"This was followed by a cold dinner at i (^servants to
have no wor\^^ Sunday-School again from 2 to 4, and
Evening-Service at 6. The intervals were perhaps the greatest
LOOKING EASTWARD 499
trial of all, from the efforts I had to ma\e, to be less than
usually sinful, by reading boo\s and sermons as barren as
the Dead Sea. There was but one rosy spot, in the distance,
all that day: and that tvas 'bed-time I which never could
come too earlyl"
"Such teaching was well meant, no doubt," said Ar-
thur; "but it must have driven many of its victims into
deserting the Church-Services altogether."
"I'm afraid / was a deserter this morning," she gravely
said. "I had to write to Eric. Would you — would you
mind my telling you something he said about prayer? It
had never struck me in that light before."
"In what light?" said Arthur.
"Why, that all Nature goes by fixed, regular laws —
Science has proved that. So that asking God to do any-
thing (except of course praying for spiritual blessings) is
to expect a miracle: and we've no right to do that, I've
not put it as well as he did : but that was the outcome of
it, and it has confused me. Please tell me what you can
say in answer to it."
"I don't propose to discuss Captain Linden s diffi-
culties," Arthur gravely replied; "specially as he is not
present. But, if it is your difficulty," (his voice uncon-
sciously took a tender tone) "then I will speak."
"It is my difficulty," she said anxiously.
"Then I will begin by asking 'Why did you except
spiritual blessings?' Is not your mind a part of Nature?"
"Yes, but Free-Will comes in there — I can choose this
or that; and God can influence my choice."
"Then you are not a Fatalist?"
"Oh, no!" she earnestly exclaimed.
"Thank God!" Arthur said to himself, but in so low
500 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
a whisper that only / heard it. "You grant then that I
can, by an act of free choice, move this cup," suiting the
action to the word, ''this way or that way?"
"Yes, I grant it."
"Well, let us see how far the result is produced by
fixed laws. The cup moves because certain mechanical
forces are impressed on it by my hand. My hand moves
because certain forces — electric, magnetic, or whatever
'nerve-force' may prove to be — are impressed on it by
my brain. This nerve-force, stored in the brain, would
probably be traceable, if Science were complete, to chem-
ical forces supplied to the brain by the blood, and ulti-
mately derived from the food I eat and the air I breathe."
"But would not that be Fatalism? Where would Free-
Will come in?"
"In choice of nerves," replied Arthur. "The nerve-force
in the brain may flow just as naturally down one nerve
as down another. We need something more than a fixed
Law of Nature to settle which nerve shall carry it. That
'something' is Free- Will."
Her eyes sparkled. "I see what you mean!" she ex-
claimed. "Human Free-Will is an exception to the sys-
tem of fixed Law. Eric said something like that. And then
I think he pointed out that God can only influence Nature
by influencing Human Wills. So that we might reason-
ably pray 'give us this day our daily breads' because many
of the causes that produce bread are under Man's control.
But to pray for rain, or fine weather, would be as unrea-
sonable as — " she checked herself, as if fearful of saying
something irreverent.
In a hushed, low tone, that trembled with emotion,
and with the solemnity of one in the presence of death,
Arthur slowly replied "Shall he that contendeth with the
Almighty instruct him ? Shall we, 'the swarm that in the
LOOKING EASTWARD 5OI
noon-tide beam were born,' feeling in ourselves the power
to direct, this way or that, the forces of Nature — of
Nature^ of which we form so trivial a part — shall we, in
our boundless arrogance, in our pitiful conceit, deny that
power to the Ancient of Days? Saying, to our Creator,
'Thus far and no further. Thou madest, but thou canst
not rule!'?"
Lady Muriel had covered her face in her hands, and
did not look up. She only murmured "Thanks, thanks!"
again and again.
We rose to go. Arthur said, with evident effort, "One
word more. If you would \now the power of Prayer —
in anything and everything that Man can need — try it.
As\, and it shall be given you, I — \have tried it. I hjiow
that God answers prayer!"
Our walk home was a silent one, till we had nearly
reached the lodgings: then Arthur murmured — and it
was almost an echo of my own thoughts — ''What \nowest
thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband?''
The subject was not touched on again. We sat on,
talking, while hour after hour, of this our last night to-
gether, glided away unnoticed. He had much to tell me
about India, and the new life he was going to, and the
wor\ he hoped to do. And his great generous soul seemed
so filled with noble ambition as to have no space left for
any vain regret or selfish repining.
"Come, it is nearly morning!" Arthur said at last, ris-
ing and leading the way upstairs. "The sun will be rising
in a few minutes: and, though I have basely defrauded
you of your last chance of a night's rest here, I'm sure
you'll forgive me: for I really couldn't bring myself to
say *Good night' sooner. And God knows whether you'll
ever see me again, or hear of me!"
''Hear of you I am certain I shall!" I warmly responded,.
502 SYLVIE AND BRUNO
and quoted the concluding lines of that strange poem
"Waring" : —
''Oh, never star
Was lost here, but it rose afar!
Loo]^ East, where whole new thousands arel
In VishnU'land what Avatar?"
"Aye, look Eastward!" Arthur eagerly replied, pausing
at the stair-case window, which commanded a fine view
of the sea and the eastward horizon. "The West is the
fitting tomb for all the sorrow and the sighing, all the
errors and the follies of the Past: for all its withered
Hopes and all its buried Loves! From the East comes
new strength, new ambition, new Hope, new Life, new
Love! Look Eastward! Aye, look Eastward!"
His last words were still ringing in my ears as I en-
tered my room, and undrew the window-curtains, just
in time to see the sun burst in glory from his ocean-
prison, and clothe the world in the light of a new day.
"So may it be for him, and me, and all of us!" I mused.
"All that is evil, and dead, and hopeless, fading with the
Night that is past! All that is good, and living, and hope-
ful, rising with the dawn of Day!
"Fading, with the Night, the chilly mists, and the
noxious vapours, and the heavy shadows, and the wailing
gusts, and the owl's melancholy hootings: rising, with
the Day, the darting shafts of light, and the wholesome
morning breeze, and the warmth of a dawning life, and
the mad music of the lark! Look Eastward!
"Fading, with the Night, the clouds of ignorance, and
the deadly blight of sin, and the silent tears of sorrow:
and ever rising, higher, higher, with the Day, the radiant
dawn of knowledge, and the sweet breath of purity, and
the throb of a world's ecstasy! Look Eastward!
LOOKING EASTWARD 503
"Fadings with the Night, the memory of a dead love,
and the withered leaves o£ a blighted hope, and the sickly
repinings and moody regrets that numb the best energies
of the soul: and rising, broadening, rolling upward like
a living flood, the manly resolve, and the dauntless will,
and the heavenward gaze of faith — the substance of things
hoped for, the evidence of things not seen!
"Look Eastward! Aye, look Eastward!"
A »»»»»»»»»»»»»X««««««««««««« A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
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A
A
A
A
A
A
A
*
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
«
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
?
V
V
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V
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V
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IV
Sylvie and Bruno
A
I
I
Concluded I
Dreams, that elude the Makers frenzied grasp —
Hands, star\ and still, on a dead Mother s breast.
Which nevermore shall render clasp for clasp,
Or deftly soothe a weeping Child to rest —
In suchli\e forms me listeth to portray
My Tale, here ended. Thou delicious Fay —
The guardian of a Sprite that lives to tease thee —
Loving in earnest, chiding but in play
The merry moc\ing Bruno! Who, that sees thee.
Can fail to love thee. Darling, even as I? —
My sweetest Sylvie, we must say ''Good-bye!"
1
»»»»»>»»»»»»»»«««««««««««««<
PREFACE
Let me here express my sincere gratitude to the many
Reviewers who have noticed, whether favorably or un-
favorably, the previous Volume. Their unfavorable re-
marks were, most probably, well-deserved; the favorable
ones less probably so. Both kinds have no doubt served
to make the book known, and have helped the reading
Public to form their opinions of it. Let me also here assure
them that it is not from any want of respect for their
criticisms, that I have carefully forborne from reading
any of them. I am strongly of opinion that an author had
far better not read any reviews of his books: the unfavor-
able ones are almost certain to make him cross, and the
favorable ones conceited; and neither of these results is
desirable.
Criticisms have, however, reached me from private
sources, to some of which I propose to offer a reply.
One such critic complains that Arthur's strictures, on
sermons and on choristers, are too severe. Let me say, in
reply, that I do not hold myself responsible for any of the
opinions expressed by the characters in my book. They
are simply opinions which, it seemed to me, might prob-
ably be held by the persons into whose mouths I put
them, and which were worth consideration.
Other critics have objected to certain innovations in
spelling, such as "ca n't," "wo'n't," "traveler." In reply,
I can only plead my firm conviction that the popular
usage is wrong. As to "ca'n't," it will not be disputed
509
510 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
that, in all other words ending in "n't," these letters are
an abbreviation o£ "not"; and it is surely absurd to sup-
pose that, in this solitary instance, "not" is represented by
"'t"! In fact "can't" is the proper abbreviation for "can
It, just as IS t IS tor is it. Again, in wo n t, the first
apostrophe is needed, because the word "would" is here
abridged into "wo": but I hold it proper to spell "don't"
with only one apostrophe, because the word "do" is here
complete. As to such words as "traveler," I hold the cor-
rect principle to be, to double the consonant when the
accent falls on that syllable; otherwise to leave it single.
This rule is observed in most cases (e.g. we double the
"r" in "preferred," but leave it single in "offered"), so
that I am only extending, to other cases, an existing rule.
I admit, however, that I do not spell "parallel," as the
rule would have it; but here we are constrained, by the
etymology, to insert the double "1".
In the Preface to Vol. I. were two puzzles, on which
my readers might exercise their ingenuity. One was, to
detect the 3 lines of "padding," which I had found it
necessary to supply in the passage extending from the bot-
tom of p. 304 to the top of p. 307. They are the i8th and
19th lines of p. 306. The other puzzle was, to determine
which (if any) of the 8 stanzas of the Gardener's Song
(see pp. 320, 328, 330, 334, 342, 347, 374, 376) were adapted
to the context, and which (if any) had the context adapt-
ed to them. The last of them is the only one that was
adapted to the context, the "Garden-Door that opened
with a key" having been substituted for some creature
(a Cormorant, I think) "that nestled in a tree." At pp.
328, 343, and 374, the context was adapted to the stanza.
At p. 334, neither stanza nor context was altered: the con-
nection between them was simply a piece of good luck.
PREFACE 511
In the Preface to Vol. I., at pp. 277, 278, I gave an ac-
count of the making-up of the story of "Sylvie and
Bruno." A few more details may perhaps be acceptable
to my Readers.
It was in 1873, as I now believe, that the idea first
occurred to me that a little fairy-tale (written, in 1867,
for "Aunt Judy's Magazine," under the title "Bruno's
Revenge") might serve as the nucleus of a longer story.
This I surmise, from having found the original draft of
the last paragraph of Vol. II., dated 1873, So that this
paragraph has been waiting 20 years for its chance of
emerging into print — more than twice the period so cau-
tiously recommended by Horace for "repressing" one's
literary efforts!
It was in February, 1885, that I entered into negotia-
tions, with Mr. Harry Furniss, for illustrating the book.
Most of the substance of both Volumes was then in exis-
tence in manuscript: and my original intention was to
publish the whole story at once. In September, 1885, I
received from Mr. Furniss the first set of drawings — the
four which illustrate "Peter and Paul": in November,
1886, I received the second set — the three which illustrate
the Professor's song about the "little man" who had "a
little gun": and in January, 1887, I received the third set
— the four which illustrate the "Pig-Tale."
So we went on, illustrating first one bit of the story,
and then another, without any idea of sequence. And it
was not till March, 1889, that, having calculated the num-
ber of pages the story would occupy, I decided on divid-
ing it into two portions, and publishing it half at a time.
This necessitated the writing of a sort of conclusion for
the first Volume: and most of my Readers, I fancy, re-
garded this as the actual conclusion, when that Volume
512 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
appeared in December, 1889. At any rate, among all the
letters I received about it, there was only one which ex-
pressed any suspicion that it was not a final conclusion.
This letter was from a child. She wrote "we were so glad,
when we came to the end of the book, to find that there
was no ending-up, for that shows us that you are going
to write a sequel."
It may interest some of my Readers to know the theory
on which this story is constructed. It is an attempt to
show what might possibly happen, supposing that Fairies
really existed; and that they were sometimes visible to
us, and we to them; and that they were sometimes able
to assume human form : and supposing, also, that human
beings might sometimes become conscious of what goes
on in the Fairy-world — by actual transference of their
immaterial essence, such as we meet with in "Esoteric
Buddhism."
I have supposed a Human being to be capable of vari-
ous psychical states, with varying degrees of conscious-
ness, as follows: —
{a) the ordinary state, with no consciousness of the
presence of Fairies;
{b) the "eerie" state, in which, while conscious of ac-
tual surroundings, he is also conscious of the presence of
Fairies;
{c) a form of trance, in which, while unconscious of
actual surroundings, and apparently asleep, he (i.e. his
immaterial essence) migrates to other scenes, in the actual
world, or in Fairyland, and is conscious of the presence
of Fairies.
I have also supposed a Fairy to be capable of migrating
from Fairyland into the actual world, and of assuming,
at pleasure, a Human form; and also to be capable of
various psychical states, viz.
PREFACE • 513
(a) the ordinary state, with no consciousness of the
presence of Human beings;
(b) a sort of "eerie" state, in which he is conscious,
if in the actual world, of the presence of actual Human
beings ; if in Fairyland, of the presence of the immaterial
essences of Human beings.
I will here tabulate the passages, in both Volumes,
where abnormal states occur.
Vol. I.
Historian's Locality and
State.
Other characters.
pp. 287-294
303-315
321-328
330-339
342-348
349-383
387-405
407-412
419-422
427,428
428-431
432 . . .
437-446
451-462
466-474
475-481
484-495
In train
c
c
c
c
c
c
b
c
c
a
c
b
b
c
a
a
b
Chancellor {b) p. 287.
S. and B. {b) pp. 370
313-
Professor {b) p. 376.
Bruno {b) pp. 392-
405.
S. and B. {b).
do. {b).
S. B. and Professor in
Human form.
S. and B. (&).
S. B. and Professor {b).
S. and B. in Human
form.
S. and B. {b).
do
do
At lodgings
On beach
At lodgings
In wood
do. sleep-walking
Among ruins
do. dreaming
do. sleep-
walking
In street
At station, &c
In garden
On road, &c
In street, &c
In wood
Vol. II.
pp.524-533
549-551
551-566
566-573
607-640
641-660
669-673
692-695
695-715
717-743
747-end.
In garden
b
b
b
b
a
c
c
b
c
c
b
S. andB. (6).
do. {b).
do. in Human
form,
do. {b).
do. in Human
form,
do. ib).
do. {b).
do. (a); Lady-
Muriel {b).
On road
do
do
In drawing-room
do.
In smoking-room
In wood
At lodgings
do
do.
514 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
In the Preface to Vol. I., at p. 278, 1 gave an account of
the origination of some of the ideas embodied in the
book. A few more such details may perhaps interest my
Readers : —
I. p. 395. The very peculiar use, here made of a dead
mouse, comes from real life. I once found two very small
boys, in a garden, playing a microscopic game of "Single-
Wicket." The bat was, I think, about the size of a table-
spoon; and the utmost distance attained by the ball, in
its most daring flights, was some 4 or 5 yards. The exact
length was of course a matter of supreme importance;
and it was always carefully measured out (the batsman
and the bowler amicably sharing the toil) with a dead
mouse!
I. p. 425. The two quasi-mathematical Axioms, quoted
by Arthur at p. 425 of Vol. I., ("Things that are greater
than the same are greater than one another," and "All
angles are equal") were actually enunciated, in all seri-
ousness, by undergraduates at a University situated not
100 miles from Ely.
II. p. 528. Bruno's remark ("I can, if I like, &c.") was
actually made by a little boy.
II. p. 529. So also was his remark ("I know what it
doesn't spell.") And his remark ("I just twiddled my
eyes, &c.") I heard from the lips of a little girl, who had
just solved a puzzle I had set her.
II. p. 554. Bruno's soliloquy ("For its father, &c.") was
actually spoken by a little girl, looking out of the window
of a railway-carriage.
II. p. 599. The remark, made by a guest at the dinner-
party, when asking for a dish of fruit ("I've been wishing
for them, &c.") I heard made by the great Poet-Laureate,
whose loss the whole reading-world has so lately had to
deplore.
PREFACE 515
11. p. 613. Bruno's speech, on the subject of the age o£
"Mein Herr," embodies the reply of a Uttle girl to the
question "Is your grandmother an old lady?" "I don't
know if she's an old lady," said this cautious young per-
son; "she's eighty 'threeT
11. p. 635. The speech about "Obstruction" is no mere
creature of my imagination! It is copied verbatim from
.the columns of the Standard, and was spoken by Sir
William Harcourt, who was, at the time, a member of
the "Opposition," at the "National Liberal Club," on
July the i6th, 1890.
II. p. 706. The Professor's remark, about a dog's tail,
that "it doesn't bite at that end," was actually made by a
child, when warned of the danger he was incurring by
pulling the dog's tail.
II. p. 730. The dialogue between Sylvie and Bruno,
which occupies lines 4 to 12, is a verbatim report (merely
substituting "cake" for "penny") of a dialogue overheard
between two children.
One story in this Volume — "Bruno's Picnic" — I can
vouch for as suitable for telling to children, having tested
it again and again; and, whether my audience has been
a dozen little girls in a village-school, or some thirty or
forty in a London drawing-room, or a hundred in a High
School, I have always found them earnestly attentive, and
keenly appreciative of such fun as the story supplied.
May I take this opportunity of calling attention to
what I flatter myself was a successful piece of name-coin-
ing, at p. 309 of Vol. I. Does not the name "Sibimet"
fairly embody the character of the Sub-Warden? The
gentle Reader has no doubt observed what a singularly
useless article in a house a brazen trumpet is, if you simply
leave it lying about, and never blow it!
5l6 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Readers of the first Volume, who have amused them-
selves by trying to solve the two puzzles propounded at
page 279 of the Preface, may perhaps like to exercise
their ingenuity in discovering which (if any) of the fol-
lowing parallelisms were intentional, and which (if any)
accidental.
"Little Bird
s." Events, and Persons.
Stanza i.
Banquet.
2.
Chancellor.
3-
Knipress and Spinach (II. 705).
4-
Warden's Return.
5-
Professor's Lecture (II. 711).
6.
Other Professor's song (I. 359).
7-
Petting of Uggug.
8.
Baron Doppelgeist.
9-
Jester and Bear (I. 350). Little Foxes.
10.
Bruno's Dinner-Bell; Little Foxes.
I will publish the answer to this puzzle in the Preface
to a little book of "Original Games and Puzzles," now
in course of preparation.
I have reserved, for the last, one or two rather more
serious topics.
I had intended, in this Preface, to discuss more fully,
than I had done in the previous Volume, the "Morality
of Sport," with special reference to letters I have received
from lovers of Sport, in which they point out the many
great advantages which men get from it, and try to prove
that the suffering, which it inflicts on animals, is too
trivial to be regarded.
But, when I came to think the subject out, and to ar-
range the whole of the arguments "pro" and "con", I
PREFACE 517
found it much too large for treatment here. Some day,
I hope to pubUsh an essay on this subject. At present, I
will content myself with stating the net result I have
arrived at.
It is, that God has given to Man an absolute right to
take the lives of other animals, for any reasonable cause,
such as the supply of food: but that He has not given to
Man the right to inflict pain^ unless when necessary:
that mere pleasure, or advantage, does not constitute
such a necessity: and, consequently, that pain, inflicted
for the purposes of Sport, is cruel, and therefore wrong.
But I find it a far more complex question than I had
supposed; and that the "case", on the side of the Sports-
man, is a much stronger one than I had supposed. So, for
the present, I say no more about it.
Objections have been raised to the severe language I
have put into the mouth of "Arthur", at p. 436, on the
subject of "Sermons," and at pp. 434, 435, on the subjects
of Choral Services and "Choristers."
I have already protested against the assumption that I
am ready to endorse the opinions of characters in my
story. But, in these two instances, I admit that I am much
in sympathy with "Arthur." In my opinion, far too many
sermons are expected from our preachers; and, as a conse-
quence, a great many are preached, which are not worth
listening to; and, as a consequence of that, we are very
apt not to listen. The reader of this paragraph probably
heard a sermon last Sunday morning? Well, let him, if
he can, name the text, and state how the preacher
treated it!
Then, as to "Choristers," and all the other accessories
— of music, vestments, processions, &c., — which have
come, along with them, into fashion — while freely ad-
5l8 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
mitting that the "Ritual" movement was sorely needed,
and that it has effected a vast improvement in our Church-
Services, which had become dead and dry to the last
degree, I hold that, like many other desirable movements,
it has gone too far in the opposite direction, and has in-
troduced many new dangers.
For the Congregation this new movement involves the
danger of learning to think that the Services are done for
them; and that their bodily presence is all they need con-
tribute. And, for Clergy and Congregation alike, it in-
volves the danger of regarding these elaborate Services as
ends in themselves^ and of forgetting that they are simply
meanSy and the very hollowest of mockeries, unless they
bear fruit in our lives.
For the Choristers it seems to involve the danger of self-
conceit, as described at p. 434 (N.B. "stagy-entrances" is
a misprint for "stage-entrances"), the danger of regard-
ing those parts of the Service, where their help is not re-
quired, as not worth attending to, the danger of coming
to regard the Service as a mere outward form — a series
of postures to be assumed, and of words to be said or
sung, while the thoughts are elsewhere — and the danger
of "familiarity" breeding "contempt" for sacred things.
Let me illustrate these last two forms of danger, from
my own experience. Not long ago, I attended a Cathedral-
Service, and was placed immediately behind a row of
men, members of the Choir; and I could not help noticing
that they treated the Lessons as a part of the Service to
which they needed not to give any attention, and as af-
fording them a convenient opportunity for arranging mu-
sic-books, &c., &c. Also I have frequently seen a row of
little choristers, after marching in procession to their
places, kneel down, as if about to pray, and rise from
their knees after a minute spent in looking about them,
PREFACE 519
it being but too evident that the attitude was a mere
mockery. Surely it is very dangerous, for these children,
to thus accustom them to pretend to pray? As an in-
stance of irreverent treatment of holy things, I will men-
tion a custom, which no doubt many of my readers have
noticed in Churches where the Clergy and Choir enter in
procession, viz. that, at the end of the private devotions,
which are carried on in the vestry, and which are of course
inaudible to the Congregation, the final "Amen" is
shouted^ loud enough to be heard all through the Church.
This serves as a signal, to the Congregation, to prepare to
rise when the procession appears: and it admits of no
dispute that it is for this purpose that it is thus shouted.
When we remember to Whom that "Amen" is really ad-
dressed, and consider that it is here used for the same
purpose as one of the Church-bells, we must surely admit
that it is a piece of gross irreverence? To me it is much
as if I were to see a Bible used as a footstool;
As an instance of the dangers, for the Clergy them-
selves, introduced by this new movement, let me mention
the fact that, according to my experience, Clergymen of
this school are specially apt to retail comic anecdotes, in
which the most sacred names and words — sometimes ac-
tual texts from the Bible — are used as themes for jesting.
Many such things are repeated as having been originally
said by children^ whose utter ignorance of evil must no
doubt acquit them^ in the sight of God, of all blame; but
it must be otherwise for those who consciously use such
innocent utterances as material for their unholy mirth.
Let me add, however, most earnestly, that I fully be-
lieve that this profanity is, in many cases, ^^conscious:
the "environment" (as I have tried to explain at p. 590)
makes all the difference between man and man; and I
rejoice to think that many of these profane stories — which
520 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
/ find so painful to listen to, and should feel it a sin to
repeat — give to their ears no pain, and to their consciences
no shock; and that they can utter, not less sincerely than
myself, the two prayers, ''Hallowed be Thy Name^'' and
"from hardness of heart, and contempt of Thy Word and
Commandment, Good Lord, deliver usT To which I
would desire to add, for their sake and for my own,
Keble's beautiful petition, "help us, this and every day.
To live more nearly as ti/e prayl" It is, in fact, for its
consequences — for the grave dangers, both to speaker
and to hearer, which it involves — rather than for what it
is in itself^ that I mourn over this clerical habit of pro-
fanity in social talk. To the believing hearer it brings the
danger of loss of reverence for holy things, by the mere
act of listening to, and enjoying, such jests; and also the
temptation to retail them for the amusement of others.
To the unbelieving hearer it brings a welcome confirma-
tion of his theory that religion is a fable, in the spectacle
of its accredited champions thus betraying their trust.
And to the speaker himself it must surely bring the
danger of loss of faith. For surely such jests, if uttered
with no consciousness of harm, must necessarilv be also
uttered with no consciousness, at the moment, of the
reality of God, as a living beings who hears all we say.
And he, who allows himself the habit of thus uttering
holy words, with no thought of their meaning, is but too
likely to find that, for him, God has become a myth, and
heaven a poetic fancy — that, for him, the light of life is
gone, and that he is at heart an atheist, lost in "a dark-
ness tliat may be feltT
There is, I fear, at the present time, an increasing ten-
dency to irreverent treatment of the name of God and of
subjects connected with religion. Some of our theatres are
helping this downward movement by the gross carica-
PREFACE 521
tures of clergymen which they put upon the stage: some
o£ our clergy are themselves helping it, by showing that
they can lay aside the spirit o£ reverence, along with their
surplices, and can treat as jests, when outside their
churches, names and things to which they pay an almost
superstitious veneration when inside: the "Salvation
Army" has, I fear, with the best intentions, done much
to help it, by the coarse familiarity with which they treat
holy things: and surely every one, who desires to live in
the spirit of the prayer ''Hallowed be Thy Name^'' ought
to do what he can, however little that may be, to check
it. So I have gladly taken this unique opportunity, how-
ever unfit the topic may seem for the Preface to a book
of this kind, to express some thoughts which have weigh-
ed on my mind for a long time. I did not expect, when
I wrote the Preface to Vol. I, that it would be read to
any appreciable extent: but I rejoice to believe, from evi-
dence that has reached me, that it has been read by many,
and to hope that this Preface will also be so : and I think
that, among them, some will be found ready to sym-
pathise with the views I have put forwards, and ready
to help, with their prayers and their example, the revival,
in Society, of the waning spirit of reverence,
Christmas y 1893.
»»>»»»»»»»»»»»«<««««««««««««
Chapter I
Bruno's Lessons
During the next month or two my soUtary town-Hfe
seemed, by contrast, unusually dull and tedious. I missed
the pleasant friends I had left behind at Elveston — the
genial interchange of thought — the sympathy which gave
to one's ideas a new and vivid reality: but, perhaps more
than all, I missed the companionship of the two Fairies—-
or Dream-Children, for I had not yet solved the problem
as to who or what they were — whose sweet playfulness
had shed a magic radiance over my life.
In ofBce-hours — which I suppose reduce most men to
the mental condition of a coflfee-mill or a mangle — time
sped along much as usual: it was in the pauses of life,
the desolate hours when books and newspapers palled on
the sated appetite, and when, thrown back upon one's
own dreary musings, one strove — all in vain — to people
the vacant air with the dear faces of absent friends, that
the real bitterness of solitude made itself felt.
One evening, feeling my life a little more wearisome
than usual, I strolled down to my Club, not so much with
the hope of meeting any friend there, for London was
now "out of town," as with the feeling that here, at least,
I should hear "sweet words of human speech," and come
into contact with human thought.
However, almost the first face I saw there was that of
a friend. Eric Lindon was lounging, with rather a "bored"
expression of face, over a newspaper; and we fell into
524 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
conversation with a mutual satisfaction which neither of
us tried to conceal.
After a while I ventured to introduce what was just
then the main subject of my thoughts. "And so the Doc-
tor" (a name we had adopted by a tacit agreement, as
a convenient compromise between the formality of "Doc-
tor Forester" and the intimacy — to which Eric Lindon
hardly seemed entitled — of "Arthur") "has gone abroad
by this time, I suppose? Can you give me his present
address?"
"He is still at Elveston — I believe," was the reply. "But
I have not been there since I last met you."
I did not know which part of this intelligence to won-
der at most. "And might I ask — if it isn't taking too much
of a liberty — when your wedding-bells are to — or perhaps
they have rung, already?"
"No," said Eric, in a steady voice, which betrayed
scarcely a trace of emotion: ''that engagement is at an
end. I am still 'Benedick the ^/^married man.' "
After this, the thick-coming fancies — all radiant with
new possibilities of happiness for Arthur — were far too
bewildering to admit of any further conversation, and I
was only too glad to avail myself of the first decent ex-
cuse, that offered itself, for retiring into silence.
The next day I wrote to Arthur, with as much of a
reprimand for his long silence as I could bring myself
to put into words, begging him to tell me how the world
went with him.
Needs must that three or four days — possibly more —
should elapse before I could receive his reply; and never
had I known days drag their slow length along with a
more tedious indolence.
To while away the time, I strolled, one afternoon, into
Kensington Gardens, and, wandering aimlessly along
BRUNO S LESSONS 525
any path that presented itself, I soon became aware that
I had somehow strayed into one that was wholly new to
me. Still, my elfish experiences seemed to have so com-
pletely faded out of my life that nothing was further from
my thoughts than the idea of again meeting my fairy-
friends, when I chanced to notice a small creature, mov-
ing among the grass that fringed the path, that did not
seem to be an insect, or a frog, or any other living thing
that I could think of. Cautiously kneeling down, and
making an ex tempore cage of my two hands, I im-
prisoned the little wanderer, and felt a sudden thrill of
surprise and delight on discovering that my prisoner was
no other than Bruno himself!
Bruno took the matter very coolly, and, when I had
replaced him on the ground, where he would be within
easy conversational distance, he began talking, just as if
it were only a few minutes since last we had met.
"Doos 00 know what the Rule is," he enquired, "when
00 catches a Fairy, withouten its having tolded 00 where
it was?" (Bruno's notions of English Grammar had cer-
tainly not improved since our last meeting.)
"No," I said. "I didn't know there was any Rule
about it."
"I thin\ 00' ve got a right to eat me," said the little
fellow, looking up into my face with a winning smile.
"But I'm not pruffickly sure. Oo'd better not do it wiz-
out asking."
It did indeed seem reasonable not to take so irrevocable
a step as that^ without due enquiry. "I'll certainly as\
about it, first," I said. "Besides, I don't know yet whether
you would be worth eating!"
"I guess I'm deliciously good to eat," Bruno remarked
in a satisfied tone, as if it were something to be rather
proud of.
526 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"And what are you doing here, Bruno?"
""That's not my name!" said my cunning Httle friend.
"Don't 00 know my name's 'Oh Bruno!'? That's what
Sylvie always calls me, when I says mine lessons."
"Well then, what are you doing here, oh Bruno?"
"Doing mine lessons, a-course!" With that roguish
twinkle in his eye, that always came when he knew he
was talking nonsense.
"Oh, that's the way you do your lessons, is it? And do
you remember them well?"
"Always can 'member mine lessons," said Bruno. "It's
Sylvie s lessons that's so dreffully hard to 'member!" He
frowned, as if in agonies of thought, and tapped his fore-
head with his knuckles. "I cant think enough to under-
stand them!" he said despairingly. "It wants double
thinking, I believe!"
"But where's Sylvie gone?"
"That's just what / want to know!" said Bruno dis-
consolately. "What ever's the good of setting me lessons^
when she isn't here to 'splain the hard bits?"
"77/ find her for you!" I volunteered; and, getting up,
I wandered round the tree under whose shade I had been
reclining, looking on all sides for Sylvie. In another min-
ute I again noticed some strange thing moving among
the grass, and, kneeling down, was immediately con-
fronted with Sylvie's innocent face, lighted up with a
joyful surprise at seeing me, and was accosted, in the
sweet voice I knew so well, with what seemed to be the
end of a sentence whose beginning I had failed to catch.
" — and I think he ought to have finished them by this
time. So I'm going back to him. Will you come too?
It's only just round at the other side of this tree."
It was but a few steps for me; but it was a great many
BRUNO S LESSONS 527
for Sylvie; and I had to be very careful to walk slowly,
in order not to leave the little creature so far behind as
to lose sight of her.
To find Bruno's lessons was easy enough: they ap-
peared to be neatly written out on large smooth ivy-
leaves, which were scattered in some confusion over a
little patch of ground where the grass had been worn
away; but the pale student, who ought by rights to have
been bending over them, was nowhere to be seen: we
looked in all directions, for some time, in vain; but at
last Sylvie's sharp eyes detected him, swinging on a ten-
dril of ivy, and Sylvie's stern voice commanded his in-
stant return to terra firma and to the business of Life.
"Pleasure first and business afterwards" seemed to be
the motto of these tiny folk, so many hugs and kisses had
to be interchanged before anything else could be done.
"Now, Bruno," Sylvie said reproachfully, "didn't I tell
you you were to go on with your lessons, unless you
heard to the contrary?"
"But I did heard to the contrary!" Bruno insisted, with
a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
''What did you hear, you wicked boy?"
"It were a sort of noise in the air," said Bruno : "a sort
of a scrambling noise. Didn't 00 hear it. Mister Sir?"
"Well, anyhow, you needn't go to sleep over them,
you lazy-lazy!" For Bruno had curled himself up, on the
largest "lesson," and was arranging another as a pillow.
"I wasn't asleep!" said Bruno, in a deeply-injured tone.
"When I shuts mine eyes, it's to show that I'm awaf^eT
"Well, how much have you learned, then?"
"I've learned a little tiny bit," said Bruno, modestly,
being evidently afraid of overstating his achievement.
''Cant learn no more!"
"Oh Bruno! You know you can^ if you like."
528 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"Course I can, if I like^'' the pale student replied; "but
I ca'n't if I dont like!"
Sylvie had a way — which I could not too highly admire
— of evading Bruno's logical perplexities by suddenly
striking into a new line of thought; and this masterly
stratagem she now adopted.
"Well, I must say one thing — "
"Did 00 know, Mister Sir," Bruno thoughtfully re-
marked, "that Sylvie ca'n't count? Whenever she says *I
must say one thing,' I kjiow quite well she'll say two
things! And she always doos."
"Two heads are better than one, Bruno," I said, but
with no very distinct idea as to what I meant by it.
"I shouldn't mind having two heads^' Bruno said soft-
ly to himself: "one head to eat mine dinner, and one head
to argue wiz Sylvie — doos 00 think oo'd look prettier if
oo'd got two heads. Mister Sir?"
The case did not, I assured him, admit of a doubt.
"The reason why Sylvie's so cross — " Bruno went on
very seriously, almost sadly.
Sylvie's eyes grew large and round with surprise at
this new line of enquiry — her rosy face being perfectly
radiant with good humour. But she said nothing.
"Wouldn't it be better to tell me after the lessons are
over?" I suggested.
"Very well," Bruno said with a resigned air: "only she
wo'n't be cross then."
"There's only three lessons to do," said Sylvie. "Spell-
ing, and Geography, and Singing."
"Not Arithmetic?'' I said.
"No, he hasn't a head for Arithmetic — "
"Course I haven't!" said Bruno. "Mine head's for hair.
\ haven't got a lot of heads!"
" — and he ca'n't learn his Multiplication-table — "
BRUNO S LESSONS 529
"I like History ever so much better," Bruno remarked.
"Oo has to repeat that Muddlecome table — "
"Well, and you have to repeat — "
"No, 00 hasn't!" Bruno interrupted. "History repeats
itself. The Professor said so!"
Sylvie was arranging some letters on a board —
E — V — I — L. "Now, Bruno," she said, "what does that
spell?''
Bruno looked at it, in solemn silence, for a minute.
"I knows what it doesn't spell!" he said at last.
"That's no good," said Sylvie. "What does it spell?"
Bruno took another look at the mysterious letters.
"Why, it's 'LIVE,' backwards!" he exclaimed. (I thought
it was, indeed.)
"How did you manage to see that?" said Sylvie.
"I just twiddled my eyes," said Bruno, "and then I
saw it directly. Now may I sing the King-fisher Song?"
"Geography next," said Sylvie. "Don't you know the
Rules?"
"I thinks there oughtn't to be such a lot of Rules,
Sylvie! I thinks — "
"Yes, there ought to be such a lot of Rules, you wicked,
wicked boy! And how dare you thin\ at all about it?
And shut up that mouth directly!"
So, as "that mouth" didn't seem inclined to shut up of
itself, Sylvie shut it for him — with both hands — and
sealed it with a kiss, just as you would fasten up a letter.
"Now that Bruno is fastened up from talking," she
went on, turning to me, "I'll show you the Map he does
his lessons on."
And there it was, a large Map of the World, spread out
on the ground. It was so large that Bruno had to crawl
about on it, to point out the places named in the "King-
fisher Lesson."
530 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"When a King-fisher sees a Lady-bird flying away, he
says 'Ceylon^ i£ you CandiaP And when he catches it,
he says *Come to Media! And if you're Hungary or
thirsty, I'll give you some Nubia!' When he takes it in
his claws, he says 'Europe!' When he puts it into his
beak, he says 'India!' When he's swallowed it, he says
^Eton!' That's all."
"That's quite perfect," said Sylvie. "Now, you may sing
the King-fisher Song."
"Will 00 sing the chorus?" Bruno said to me.
I was just beginning to say "I'm afraid I don't know
the wordsj" when Sylvie silently turned the map over,
and I found the words were all written on the back. In
one respect it was a very peculiar song: the chorus to
each verse came in the middle^ instead of at the end of it.
However, the tune was so easy that I soon picked it up,
and managed the chorus as well, perhaps, as it is pos-
sible for one person to manage such a thing. It was in
vain that I signed to Sylvie to help me: she only smiled
sweetly and sl;iook her head.
'King Fisher courted Lady Bird —
Sing Beans, sing Bones, sing Butterflies !
'Find me my match,' he said,
'With such a noble head —
With such a beard, as white as curd —
With such expressive eyes!'
it (
Yet pins have heads' said Lady Bird —
Sing Prunes, sing Prawns, sing Primrose-Hill !
'And, where you stic\ thein in.
They stay, and thus a pin
Is very much to be preferred
To one that's never still!'
t< <
Bruno's lessons 531
Oysters have beards' said Lady Bird —
Sing Flies, sing Frogs, sing Fiddle-strings !
7 love them, for I \now
They never chatter so:
They would not say one single word —
Not if you crowned them Kings!'
ti t
Needles have eyes,' said Lady Bird —
Sing Cats, sing Corks, sing Cowslip-tea!
*And they are sharp — just what
Your Majesty is not:
So get you gone — 'tis too absurd
To come a-courting me!' "
"So he went away," Bruno added as a kind of post-
script, when the last note o£ the song had died away
"Just like he always did."
"Oh, my dear Bruno!" Sylvie exclaimed, with her
hands over her ears. "You shouldn't say 'like': you should
say 'what' "
To which Bruno replied, doggedly, "I only says 'what!'
when 00 doosn't speak loud, so as I can hear 00."
"Where did he go to?" I asked, hoping to prevent
an argument.
"He went more far than he'd never been before," said
Bruno.
"You should never say 'more far,' " Sylvie corrected
him: "you should say 'farther' "
"Then 00 shouldn't say 'more broth,' when we're at
dinner," Bruno retorted: "00 should say 'brother V
This time Sylvie evaded an argument by turning away,
and beginning to roll up the Map. "Lessons are over!"
she proclaimed in her sweetest tones.
"And has there been no crying over them?" I en-
532 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
quired. "Little boys always cry over their lessons, don't
they?"
"I never cries after twelve o'clock," said Bruno: " 'cause
then it's getting so near to dinner-time."
"Sometimes, in the morning," Sylvie said in a low
voice; "when it's Geography-day, and when he's been
disobe — "
"What a fellow you are to talk, Sylvie!" Bruno hastily
interposed. "Doos oo think the world was made for oo to
talk in?"
"Why, where would you have me talk, then?" Sylvie
said, evidently quite ready for an argument.
But Bruno answered resolutely. "I'm not going to
argue about it, 'cause it's getting late, and there wo'n't
be time — but oo's as 'ong as ever oo can be!" And he
rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, in which
tears were beginning to glitter.
Sylvie's eyes filled with tears in a moment. "I didn't
mean it, Bruno, darling!'' she whispered; and the rest of
the argument was lost "amid the tangles of Nesera's hair,"
while the two disputants hugged and kissed each other.
But this new form of argument was brought to a sud-
den end by a flash of lightning, which was closely fol-
lowed by a peal of thunder, and by a torrent of rain-
drops, which came hissing and spitting, almost like live
creatures, through the leaves of the tree that sheltered us.
"Why, it's raining cats and dogs!" I said.
"And all the dogs has come down first,'' said Bruno:
"there's nothing but cats coming down now!"
In another minute the pattering ceased, as suddenly as
it had begun. I stepped out from under the tree, and
found that the storm was over; but I looked in vain, on
my return, for my tiny companions. They had vanished
LOVE S CURFEW 533
with the storm, and there was nothing for it but to make
the best of my way home.
On the table lay, awaiting my return, an envelope of
that peculiar yellow tint which always announces a tele-
gram, and which must be, in the memories of so many
of us, inseparably linked with some great and sudden
sorrow — something that has cast a shadow, never in this
world to be wholly lifted off, on the brightness of Life.
No doubt it has also heralded — for many of us — some
sudden news of joy; but this, I think, is less common:
human life seems, on the whole, to contain more of sor-
row than of joy. And yet the world goes on. Who knows
why ?
This time, however, there was no shock of sorrow to be
faced: in fact, the few words it contained ("Could not
bring myself to write. Come soon. Always welcome. A
letter follows this. Arthur.") seemed so like Arthur him-
self speaking, that it gave me quite a thrill of pleasure,
and I at once began the preparations needed for the
journey.
Chapter II
Love's Curfew
"Fayfield Junction! Change for Elveston!"
What subtle memory could there be, linked to these
commonplace words, that caused such a flood of happy
thoughts to fill my brain? I dismounted from the car-
riage in a state of joyful excitement for which I could not
at first account. True, I had taken this very journey, and
534 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
at the same hour of the day, six months ago; but many
things had happened since then, and an old man's mem-
ory has but a slender hold on recent events: I sought "the
missing link" in vain. Suddenly I caught sight of a bench
— the only one provided on the cheerless platform — with
a lady seated on it, and the whole forgotten scene flashed
upon me as vividly as if it were happening over again.
"Yes," I thought. "This bare platform is, for me, rich
with the memory of a dear friend! She was sitting on
that very bench, and invited me to share it, with some
quotation from Shakespeare — I forget what. I'll try the
Earl's plan for the Dramatisation of Life, and fancy that
figure to be Lady Muriel; and I won't undeceive myself
too soon!"
So I strolled along the platform, resolutely "making-
beheve" (as children say) that the casual passenger, seated
on that bench, was the Lady Muriel I remembered so
well. She was facing away from me, which aided the
elaborate cheatery I was practising on myself: but, though
I was careful, in passing the spot, to look the other way,
in order to prolong the pleasant illusion, it was inevitable
that, when I turned to walk back again, I should see who
it was. It was Lady Muriel herself!
The whole scene now returned vividly to my memory;
and, to make this repetition of it stranger still, there was
the same old man, whom I remembered seeing so rough-
ly ordered oflf, by the Station-Master, to make room for
his titled passenger. The same, but "with a difference":
no longer tottering feebly along the platform, but ac-
tually seated at Lady Muriel's side, and in conversation
with her! "Yes, put it in your purse," she was saying,
"and remember you're to spend it all for Minnie, And
mind you bring her something nice, that'll do her real
good! And give her my love!" So intent was she on say-
love's curfew 535
ing these words, that, although the sound of my foot-
step had made her hft her head and look at me, she did
not at first recognise me.
I raised my hat as I approached, and then there flashed
across her face a genuine look of joy, which so exactly
recalled the sweet face of Sylvie, when last we met in
Kensington Gardens, that I felt quite bewildered.
Rather than disturb the poor old man at her side, she
rose from her seat, and joined me in my walk up and
down the platform, and for a minute or two our con-
versation was as utterly trivial and commonplace as if
we were merely two casual guests in a London drawing-
room. Each of us seemed to shrink, just at first, from
touching on the deeper interests which linked our lives
together.
The Elveston train had drawn up at the platform,
while we talked; and, in obedience to the Station-Mas-
ter's obsequious hint of "This way, my Lady! Time's
up!", we were making the best of our way towards the
end which contained the sole first-class carriage, and were
just passing the now-empty bench, when Lady Muriel
noticed, lying on it, the purse in which her gift had just
been so carefully bestowed, the owner of which, all un-
conscious of his loss, was being helped into a carriage at
the other end of the train. She pounced on it instantly.
"Poor old man!" she cried. "He mustn't go off, and think
he's lost it!"
"Let me run with it! I can go quicker than you!" I
said. But she was already half-way down the platform,
flying ("running" is much too mundane a word for such
fairy-like motion) at a pace that left all possible efforts
of mine hopelessly in the rear.
She was back again before I had well completed my
audacious boast of speed in running, and was saying,
536 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
quite demurely, as we entered our carriage, "and you
really think you could have done it quicker?"
"No indeed!" I replied. "I plead ^Guilty' of gross exag-
geration, and throw myself on the mercy of the Court!"
"The Court will overlook it — for this once!" Then her
manner suddenly changed from playfulness to an anxious
gravity.
"You are not looking your best!" she said with an
anxious glance. "In fact, I think you look more of an
invalid than when you left us. I very much doubt if
London agrees with you?"
"It may be the London air," I said, "01 it may be the
hard work — or my rather lonely life : anyhow, I've not been
feeling very well, lately. But Elveston will soon set me up
again. Arthur's prescription — he's my doctor, you know,
and I heard from him this morning — is 'plenty of ozone,
and new milk, and pleasant society T
"Pleasant society?" said Lady Muriel, with a pretty
make-believe of considering the question. "Well, really I
don't know where we can find that for you! We have so
few neighbours. But new milk we can manage. Do get it
of my old friend Mrs. Hunter, up there, on the hill-side.
You may rely upon the quality. And her little Bessie
comes to school every day, and passes your lodgings. So it
would be very easy to send it."
"I'll follow your advice, with pleasure," I said; "and
I'll go and arrange about it to-morrow. I know Arthur
will want a walk."
"You'll find it quite an easy walk — under three miles, I
think."
"Well, now that we've settled that point, let me retort
your own remark upon yourself. I don't think you re look-
ing quite your best!"
"I daresay not," she replied in a low voice; and a sud-
LOVE S CURFEW 537
den shadow seemed to overspread her face. "I've had some
troubles lately. It's a matter about which I've been long
wishing to consult you, but I couldn't easily write about
it. I'm so glad to have this opportunity!"
"Do you think/' she began again, after a minute's
silence, and with a visible embarrassment of manner most
unusual in her, "that a promise, deliberately and solemnly
given, is always binding — except, of course, where its ful-
filment would involve some actual sin?''
"I ca'n't think of any other exception at this moment," I
said. "That branch of casuistry is usually, I believe, treated
as a question of truth and untruth — "
"Surely that is the principle?" she eagerly interrupted.
"I always thought the Bible-teaching about it consisted of
such texts as 'lie not one to another?''
"I have thought about that point," I replied; "and it
seems to me that the essence of lying is the intention of
deceiving. If you give a promise, fully intending to fulfill
it, you are certainly acting truthfully then; and, if you af-
terwards break it, that does not involve any deception. I
cannot call it untruthful."
Another pause of silence ensued. Lady Muriel's face
was hard to read : she looked pleased, I thought, but also
puzzled; and I felt curious to knov/ whether her question
had, as I began to suspect, some bearing on the breaking
off of her engagement with Captain (now Major)
Lindon.
"You have relieved me from a great fear," she said; "but
the thing is of course wrongs somehow. What texts would
you quote, to prove it wrong?"
"Any that enforce the payment of debts. If A promises
something to 5, B has a claim upon A. And A's sin, if he
breaks his promise, seems to me more analogous to steal-
ing than to lying."
538 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"It's a new way of looking at it — to me," she said; "but
it seems a true way^ also. However, I won't deal in gener-
alities, with an old friend like you! For we are old friends,
somehow. Do you know, I think we began as old
friends?" she said with a playfulness of tone that ill ac-
corded with the tears that glistened in her eyes.
"Thank you very much for saying so," I replied. "I
like to think of you as an old friend," (" — though you
don't look it!" would have been the almost necessary se-
quence, with any other lady; but she and I seemed to have
long passed out of the time when compliments, or any
such trivialities, were possible.)
Here the train paused at a station, where two or three
passengers entered the carriage; so no more was said till
we had reached our journey's end.
On our arrival at Elveston, she readily adopted my sug-
gestion that we should walk up together; so, as soon as
our luggage had been duly taken charge of — hers by the
servant who met her at the station, and mine by one of
the porters — we set out together along the familiar lanes,
now linked in my memory with so many delightful asso-
ciations. Lady Muriel at once recommenced the conversa-
tion at the point where it had been interrupted.
"You knew of my engagement to my cousin Eric. Did
you also hear — "
"Yes," I interrupted, anxious to spare her the pain of
giving any details. "I heard it had all come to an end."
"I would like to tell you how it happened," she said; "as
that is the very point I want your advice about. I had long
realised that we were not in sympathy in religious belief.
His ideas of Christianity are very shadowy; and even as
to the existence of a God he lives in a sort of dreamland.
But it has not affected his life! I feel sure, now, that the
most absolute Atheist may be leading, though walking
LOVE S CURFEW 539
blindfold, a pure and noble life. And if you knew half the
good deeds — " she broke off suddenly, and turned away
her head.
'1 entirely agree with you," I said. "And have we not
our Saviour's own promise that such a life shall surely
lead to the light?"
"Yes, I know it," she said in a broken voice, still keep-
ing her head turned away. "And so I told him. He said he
would believe, for my sake, if he could. And he wished,
for my sake, he could see things as I did. But that is all
wrong!" she went on passionately. "God cannot approve
such low motives as that! Still it was not / that broke it
off. I knew he loved me; and I had promised; and — "
"Then it was he that broke it off?"
"He released me unconditionally." She faced me again
now, having quite recovered her usual calmness of man-
ner.
"Then what difficulty remains?"
"It is this, that I don't believe he did it of his own free
will. Now, supposing he did it against his will, merely to
satisfy my scruples, would not his claim on me remain
just as strong as ever? And would not my promise be as
binding as ever? My father says 'no'; but I ca'n't help
fearing he is biased by his love for me. And I've asked no
one else. I have many friends — friends for the bright sun-
ny weather; not friends for the clouds and storms of life;
not old friends like you!"
"Let me think a little," I said : and for some minutes we
walked on in silence, while, pained to the heart at seeing
the bitter trial that had come upon this pure and gentle
soul, I strove in vain to see my way through the tangled
skein of conflicting motives.
"If she loves him truly," (I seemed at last to grasp the
clue to the problem) "is not that^ for her the voice of God ?
540 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
May she not hope that she is sent to him, even as Ananias
was sent to Saul in his bHndness, that he may receive his
sight?" Once more I seemed to hear Arthur whispering
''What \nowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy
husband?'' and I broke the silence with the words "If you
still love him truly — "
"I do notr she hastily interrupted. "At least — not in
that way. I believe I loved him when I promised; but I
was very young: it is hard to know. But, whatever the
feeling was, it is dead now. The motive on his side is
Love: on mine it is — Duty!"
Again there was a long silence. The whole skein of
thought was tangled worse than ever. This time she broke
the silence. "Don't misunderstand me!" she said. "When I
said my heart was not A/V, I did not mean it was any one
else's! At present I feel bound to him; and, till I know I
am absolutely free, in the sight of God, to love any other
than him, I'll never even thin\ of any one else — in that
way, I mean. I would die sooner!" I had never imagined
my gentle friend capable of such passionate utterances.
I ventured on no further remark until we had nearly
arrived at the Hall-gate; but, the longer I reflected, the
clearer it became to me that no call of Duty demanded the
sacrifice — possibly of the happiness of a life — which she
seemed ready to make. I tried to make this clear to her
also, adding some warnings on the dangers that surely
awaited a union in which mutual love was wanting. "The
only argument for it, worth considering," I said in con-
clusion, "seems to be his supposed reluctance in releasing
you from your promise. I have tried to give to that argu-
ment its full weight, and my conclusion is that it does not
affect the rights of the case, or invalidate the release he
has given you. My belief is that you are entirely free to act
ijs now seems right."
love's curfew 541
"I am very grateful to you," she said earnestly. "Believe
it, please! I can't put it into proper words!" and the sub-
ject was dropped by mutual consent: and I only learned,
long afterwards, that our discussion had really served to
dispel the doubts that had harassed her so long.
We parted at the Hall-gate, and I found Arthur eagerly
awaiting my arrival; and, before we parted for the night, I
had heard the whole story — how he had put off his jour-
ney from day to day, feeling that he could not go away
from the place till his fate had been irrevocably settled by
the wedding taking place: how the preparations for the
wedding, and the excitement in the neighbourhood, had
suddenly come to an end, and he had learned (from Ma-
jor Lindon, who called to wish him good-bye) that the
engagement had been broken off by mutual consent : how
he had instantly abandoned all his plans for going abroad,
and had decided to stay on at Elveston, for a year or two
at any rate, till his newly-awakened hopes should prove
true or false; and how, since that memorable day, he had
avoided all meetings with Lady Muriel, fearing to betray
his feelings before he had had any sufficient evidence as to
how she regarded him. "But it is nearly six weeks since
all that happened," he said in conclusion, "and we can
meet in the ordinary way, now, with no need for any
painful allusions. I would have written to tell you all this:
only I kept hoping from day to day that — that there
would be more to tell!"
"And how should there be more^ you foolish fellow," I
fondly urged, "if you never even go near her? Do you ex-
pect the offer to come from \her?''
Arthur was betrayed into a smile. "No," he said, "I
hardly expect that. But I'm a desperate coward. There's
no doubt about it!"
542 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"And what reasons have you heard o£ for breaking oflF
the engagement?"
"A good many," Arthur rephed, and proceeded to
count them on his fingers. "First, it was found that she
was dying of — something; so he broke it off. Then it was
found that he was dying of — some other thing; so she
broke it off. Then the Major turned out to be a confirmed
gamester ; so the Earl broke it off. Then the Earl insulted
him; so the Major broke it off. It got a good deal broken
off, all things considered!"
"You have all this on the very best authority, of
course?"
"Oh, certainly! And communicated in the strictest con-
fidence! Whatever defects Elveston society suffers from,
want of information isn't one of them!"
"Nor reticence^ either, it seems. But, seriously, do you
know the real reason?"
"No, I'm quite in the dark."
I did not feel that I had any right to enlighten him; so I
changed the subject, to the less engrossing one of "new
milk," and we agreed that I should walk over, next day,
to Hunter's farm, Arthur undertaking to set me part of
the way, after which he had to return to keep a business-
engagement.
Chapter III
Streaks of Dawn
Next day proved warm and sunny, and we started early,
to enjoy the luxury of a good long chat before he would
be obliged to leave me.
STREAKS OF DAWN 543
"This neighbourhood has more than its due propor-
tion of the very poor/' I remarked, as we passed a group
of hovels, too dilapidated to deserve the name of "cot-
tages."
"But the few rich," Arthur replied, "give more than
their due proportion of help in charity. So the balance is
kept."
"I suppose the Earl does a good deal?"
"He gives liberally; but he has not the health or strength
to do more. Lady Muriel does more in the way of school-
teaching and cottage-visiting than she would like me to
reveal."
"Then she^ at least, is not one of the 'idle mouths' one
so often meets with among the upper classes. I have some-
times thought they would have a hard time of it, if sud-
denly called on to give their raison d'etre^ and to show
cause why they should be allowed to live any longer!"
"The whole subject," said Arthur, "of what we may
call 'idle mouths' (I mean persons who absorb some of
the material wealth of a community — in the form of food,
clothes, and so on — without contributing its equivalent in
the form of productive labour) is a complicated one, no
doubt. I've tried to think it out. And it seemed to me that
the simplest form of the problem, to start with, is a com-
munity without money ^ who buy and sell by barter only;
and it makes it yet simpler to suppose the food and other
things to be capable of \eeping for many years without
spoiling."
"Yours is an excellent plan," I said. "What is your solu-
tion of the problem .f^"
"The commonest type of 'idle mouths,' " said Arthur,
"is no doubt due to money being left by parents to their
own children. So I imagined a man — either exceptionally
clever, or exceptionally strong and industrious — who had
544 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
contributed so much valuable labour to the needs of the
community that its equivalent, in clothes, &c., was (say)
five times as much as he needed for himself. We cannot
deny his absolute right to give the superfluous wealth as
he chooses. So, if he leaves four children behind him (say
two sons and two daughters), with enough of all the
necessaries of life to last them a life-time, I cannot see that
the community is in any way wronged if they choose to
do nothing in life but to 'eat, drink, and be merry.' Most
certainly, the community could not fairly say, in refer-
ence to them, 'if a man will not wor\, neither let him eat!
Their reply would be crushing. *The labour has already
been done^ which is a fair equivalent for the food we are
eating; and you have had the benefit of it. On what prin-
ciple of justice can you demand two quotas of work for
one quota of food?' "
"Yet surely," I said, "there is something wrong some-
where^ if these four people are well able to do useful work,
and if that work is actually needed by the community,
and they elect to sit idle?"
"I think there /V," said Arthur: "but it seems to me to
arise from a Law of God — that every one shall do as
much as he can to help others — and not from any rights^
on the part of the community, to exact labour as an equiv-
alent for food that has already been fairly earned."
"I suppose the second form of the problem is where the
*idle mouths' possess money instead of material wealth?"
"Yes," replied Arthur: "and I think the simplest case is
that of paper-monty. Gold is itself a form of material
wealth; but a bank-note is merely a promise to hand over
so much material wealth when called upon to do so. The
father of these four 'idle mouths,' had done (let us say)
five thousand pounds' worth of useful work for the com-
munity. In return for this, the community had given him
STREAKS OF DAWN 545
what amounted to a written promise to hand over, when-
ever called upon to do so, five thousand pounds' worth
of food, &c. Then, if he only uses one thousand pounds'
worth himself, and leaves the rest of the notes to his chil-
dren, surely they have a full right to present these written
promises, and to say 'hand over the food, for which the
equivalent labour has been already done.' Now I think
this case well worth stating, publicly and clearly. I should
like to drive it into the heads of those Socialists who are
priming our ignorant paupers with such sentiments as
'Look at them bloated haristocrats! Doing not a stroke o'
work for theirselves, and living on the sweat of our
brows!' I should like to jorce them to see that the money ^
which those 'haristocrats' are spending, represents so
much labour already done for the community, and whose
equivalent, in material wealth, is due from the com-
munity!'
"Might not the Socialists reply 'Much of this money
does not represent honest labour at all. If you could trace
it back, from owner to owner, though you might begin
with several legitimate steps, such as gift, or bequeathing
by will, or 'value received,' you would soon reach an own-
er who had no moral right to it, but had got it by fraud or
other crimes; and of course his successors in the line
would have no better right to it than he had."
"No doubt, no doubt," Arthur replied. "But surely that
involves the logical fallacy of proving too much? It is
quite as applicable to material wealth, as it is to money.
If we once begin to go back beyond the fact that the
present owner of certain property came by it honestly,
and to ask whether any previous owner, in past ages, got
it by fraud, would any property be secure?"
After a minute's thought, I felt obliged to admit the
truth of this.
546 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
''My general conclusion," Arthur continued, "from the
mere standpoint of human rights, man against man, was
this — that if some wealthy 'idle mouth,' who has come by
his money in a lawful way, even though not one atom of
the labour it represents has been his own doing, chooses
to spend it on his own needs, without contributing any
labour to the community from whom he buys his food
and clothes, that community has no right to interfere
with him. But it's quite another thing, when we come to
consider the divine law. Measured by that standard, such
a man is undoubtedly doing wrong, if he fails to use, for
the good of those in need, the strength or the skill, that
God has given him. That strength and skill do not belong
to the community, to be paid to them as a debt: they do
not belong to the man himself, to be used for his own en-
joyment: they do belong to God, to be used according to
His will; and we are not left in doubt as to what this will
is. 'Do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again' "
"Anyhow," I said, "an 'idle mouth' very often gives
away a great deal in charity."
"In so-called 'charity,' " he corrected me. "Excuse me if
I seem to speak ^/2charitably. I would not dream of ap-
plying the term to any individual. But I would say, gen-
erally, that a man who gratifies every fancy that occurs to
him — denying himself in nothing — and merely gives to
the poor some part, or even all, of his super flous wealth, is
only deceiving himself if he calls it charity,''
"But, even in giving away superfluous wealth, he may
be denying himself the miser's pleasure in hoarding?"
"I grant you that, gladly," said Arthur. "Given that he
has that morbid craving, he is doing a good deed in re-
straining it."
"But, even in spending on himself^" I persisted, "our
STREAKS OF DAWN 547
typical rich man often does good, by employing people
who would otherwise be out of work: and that is often
better than pauperising them by giving the money."
'Tm glad you've said that!" said Arthur. "I would not
like to quit the subject without exposing the two fallacies
of that statement — which have gone so long uncontra-
dicted that Society now accepts it as an axiom!"
"What are they?" I said. "I don't even see one^ myself."
"One is merely the fallacy of ambiguity — the assump-
tion that 'doing good' (that is, benefiting somebody) is
necessarily a good thing to do (that is, a right thing). The
other is the assumption that, if one of two specified acts
is better than another, it is necessarily a good act in itself.
I should like to call this the fallacy of comparison — mean-
ing that it assumes that what is comparatively good is
therefore positively good."
"Then what is your test of a good act?"
"That it shall be our best^' Arthur confidently replied.
"And even then 'we are unprofitable servants! But let me
illustrate the two fallacies. Nothing illustrates a fallacy so
well as an extreme case, which fairly comes under it.
Suppose I find two children drowning in a pond. I rush
in, and save one of the children, and then walk away,
leaving the other to drown. Clearly I have 'done good^ in
saving a child's life? But — . Again, supposing I meet an
inoffensive stranger, and knock him down, and walk on.
Clearly that is 'better than if I had proceeded to jump
upon him and break his ribs? But — "
"Those 'buts' are quite unanswerable," I said. "But I
should like an instance from real life."
"Well, let us take one of those abominations of modern
Society, a Charity-Bazaar. It's an interesting question to
think out — how much of the money, that reaches the ob-
548 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
ject in view, is genuine charity; and whether even that is
spent in the best way. But the subject needs regular classi-
fication, and analysis, to understand it properly."
"I should be glad to have it analysed," I said: "it has
often puzzled me."
"Well, if I am really not boring you. Let us suppose our
Charity-Bazaar to have been organised to aid the funds
of some Hospital : and that A, B, C give their services in
making articles to sell, and in acting as salesmen, while
X, Y, Z buy the articles, and the money so paid goes to
the Hospital.
"There are two distinct species of such Bazaars: one,
where the payment exacted is merely the mar\et-value of
the goods supplied, that is, exactly what you would have
to pay at a shop : the other, where fancy-prices are asked.
We must take these separately.
"First, the 'market-value' case. Here A, B, C are exactly
in the same position as ordinary shopkeepers; the only
difference being that they give the proceeds to the Hospi-
tal. Practically, they are giving their skilled labour for the
benefit of the Hospital. This seems to me to be genuine
charity. And I don't see how they could use it better. But
X, Y, Z, are exactly in the same position as any ordinary
purchasers of goods. To talk of 'charity' in connection
with their share of the business, is sheer nonsense. Yet
they are very likely to do so.
"Secondly, the case of 'fancy-prices.' Here I think the
simplest plan is to divide the payment into two parts, the
'market-value' and the excess over that. The 'market-
value' part is on the same footing as in the first case: the
excess is all we have to consider. Well, A, B, C do not
earn it; so we may put them out of the question: it is a
gijt^ from X, Y, Z, to the Hospital. And my opinion is that
STREAKS OF DAWN 549
it is not given in the best way: far better buy what they
choose to buy, and give what they choose to give^ as two
separate transactions: then there is some chance that their
motive in giving may be real charity, instead of a mixed
motive — half charity, half self-pleasing. 'The trail of the
serpent is over it all.' And therefore it is that I hold all
such spurious 'Charities' in utter abomination!" He end-
ed with unusual energy, and savagely beheaded, with his
stick, a tall thistle at the road-side, behind which I was
startled to see Sylvie and Bruno standing. I caught at his
arm, but too late to stop him. Whether the stick reached
them, or not, I could not feel sure: at any rate they took
not the smallest notice of it, but smiled gaily, and nodded
to me; and I saw at once that they were only visible to me:
the "eerie" influence had not reached to Arthur,
"Why did you try to save it?" he said. ''That's not the
wheedling Secretary of a Charity-Bazaar! I only wish it
were!" he added grimly.
"Does oo know, that stick went right froo my head!"
said Bruno. (They had run round to me by this time, and
each had secured a hand.) "Just under my chin! I are glad
I aren't a thistle!"
"Well, we've threshed that subject out, anyhow!" Ar-
thur resumed. "I'm afraid I've been talking too much, for
your patience and for my strength. I must be turning
soon. This is about the end of my tether."
*'TaJ{e, O boatman, thrice thy fee;
Ta\e, I give it willingly;
For, invisible to thee.
Spirits twain have crossed with meV*
I quoted, involuntarily.
550 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"For utterly inappropriate and irrelevant quotations,"
laughed Arthur, "you are *ekalled by few, and excelled by
none'!" And we strolled on.
As we passed the head of the lane that led down to the
beach, I noticed a single figure, moving slowly along it,
seawards. She was a good way off, and had her back to
us: but it was Lady Muriel, unmistakably. Knowing that
Arthur had not seen her, as he had been looking, in the
other direction, at a gathering rain-cloud, I made no re-
mark, but tried to think of some plausible pretext for
sending him back by the sea.
The opportunity instantly presented itself. "I'm getting
tired," he said. "I don't think it would be prudent to go
further. I had better turn here."
I turned with him, for a few steps, and as we again ap-
proached the head of the lane, I said, as carelessly as I
could, "Don't go back by the road. It's too hot and dusty.
Down this lane, and along the beach, is nearly as short; and
you'll get a breeze off the sea."
"Yes, I think I will," Arthur began; but at that moment
we came into sight of Lady Muriel, and he checked him-
self. "No, it's too far round. Yet it certainly would be
cooler — " He stood, hesitating, looking first one way and
then the other — a melancholy picture of utter infirmity of
purpose!
How long this humiliating scene would have contin-
ued, if / had been the only external influence, it is impos-
sible to say; for at this moment Sylvie, with a swift deci-
sion worthy of Napoleon himself, took the matter into
her own hands. "You go and drive her^ up this way," she
said to Bruno. "I'll get him along!" And she took hold of
the stick that Arthur was carrying, and gently pulled him
down the lane.
He was totally unconscious that any will but his own
THE DOG-KING 551
was acting on the stick, and appeared to think it had
taken a horizontal position simply because he was point-
ing with it. "Are not those orchises under the hedge
there?" he said. "I think that decides me. I'll gather some
as I go along."
Meanwhile Bruno had run on behind Lady Muriel,
and, with much jumping about and shouting (shouts
audible to no one but Sylvie and myself), much as if he
were driving sheep, he managed to turn her round and
make her walk, with eyes demurely cast upon the
ground, in our direction.
The victory was ours! And, since it was evident that the
lovers, thus urged together, must meet in another minute,
I turned and walked on, hoping that Sylvie and Bruno
would follow my example, as I felt sure that the fewer
the spectators the better it would be for Arthur and his
good angel.
"And what sort of meeting was it.^" I wondered, as I
p-^ced dreamily on.
Chapter IV
The Dog-King
"They shooked hands," said Bruno, who was trotting
at my side, in answer to the unspoken question.
"And they looked ever so pleased!" Sylvie added from
the other side.
"Well, we must get on, now, as quick as we can," I
said. "If only I knew the best way to Hunter's farm!"
"They'll be sure to know in this cottage," said Sylvie.
"Yes, I suppose they will. Bruno, would you run in
and ask?"
552 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Sylvie stopped him, laughingly, as he ran off. "Wait a
minute," she said. "I must make you visible first, you
know."
"And audible too, I suppose?" I said, as she took the
jewel, that hung round her neck, and waved it over his
head, and touched his eyes and lips with it.
"Yes," said Sylvie: "and once^ do you know, I made
him audible, and forgot to make him visible! And he
went to buy some sweeties in a shop. And the man was so
frightened! A voice seemed to come out of the air, Tlease,
I want two ounces of barley-sugar drops!' And a shilling
came bang down upon the counter! And the man said 'I
ca'n't see you!' And Bruno said 'It doosn't sinnify seeing
me, so long as oo can see the shilling^ But the man said
he never sold barley-sugar drops to people he couldn't
see. So we had to — Now, Bruno, you're ready!" And away
he trotted.
Sylvie spent the time, while we were waiting for him,
in making herself visible also. "It's rather awkward, you
know," she explained to me, "when we meet people, and
they can see one of us, and ca'n't see the otherT
In a minute or two Bruno returned, looking rather dis-
consolate. "He'd got friends with him, and he were
cross!'' he said. "He asked me who I were. And I said
I'm Bruno: who is these peoples?' And he said 'One's my
half-brother, and t'other's my half-sister: and I don't
want no more company! Go along with yer!' And I said
'I ca'n't go along wizout mine self!' And I said *Oo
shouldn't have bits of peoples lying about like that! It's
welly untidy!' And he said 'Oh, don't talk to me!' And he
pushted me outside! And he shutted the door!"
"And you never asked where Hunter's farm was?"
queried Sylvie.
THE DOG-KING 553
"Hadn't room for any questions," said Bruno. "The
room were so crowded."
"Three people couldn't crowd a room," said Sylvie.
"They did, though," Bruno persisted. ''He crowded it
most. He's such a welly thicl{^ man — so as oo couldn't
knock him down."
I failed to see the drift of Bruno's argument. "Surely
anybody could be knocked down," I said: "thick or thin
Vouldn't matter."
"Oo couldn't knock him down," said Bruno. "He's
more wide than he's high : so, when he's lying down, he's
more higher than when he's standing: so a-course oo
couldn't knock him down!''
"Here's another cottage," I said: "77/ ask the way, this
time.
There was no need to go in, this time, as the woman
was standing in the doorway, with a baby in her arms,
talking to a respectably dressed man — a farmer, as I
guessed — who seemed to be on his way to the town.
" — and when there's drinf{ to be had," he was saying,
"he's just the worst o' the lot, is your Willie. So they tell
me. He gets fairly mad wi' it!"
"I'd have given 'em the lie to their faces, a twelvemonth
back!" the woman said in a broken voice. "But a' canna
noo! A' canna noo!" She checked herself on catching
sight of us, and hastily retreated into the house, shutting
the door after her.
"Perhaps you can tell me where Hunter's farm is?" I
said to the man, as he turned away from the house.
"I can that, Sir!" he replied with a smile. "I'm John
Hunter hissel, at your sarvice. It's nobbut half a mile fur-
ther— the only house in sight, when you get round bend
o' the road yonder. You'll find my good woman within, if
554 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
SO be you've business wi' her. Or mebbe I'll do as well?"
"Thanks," I said. "I want to order some milk. Perhaps
I had better arrange it with your wife?"
"Aye," said the man. ''She minds all that. Good day
t'ye. Master — and to your bonnie childer, as well!" And
he trudged on.
"He should have said 'child^ not 'childer ^' said Bruno.
"Sylvie's not a childerV
"He meant both of us," said Sylvie.
"No, he didn't!" Bruno persisted. " 'cause he said 'bon-
nie', oo know!"
"Well, at any rate he loo\ed at us both," Sylvie main-
tained.
"Well, then he must have seen we're not both bonnie!"
Bruno retorted. "K-course I'm much uglier than oo!
Didn't he mean Sylvie^ Mister Sir?" he shouted over his
shoulder, as he ran of?.
But there was no use in replying, as he had already
vanished round the bend of the road. When we overtook
him he was climbing a gate, and was gazing earnestly
into the field, where a horse, a cow, and a kid were brows-
ing amicably together. "For its father, a Horse^'' he mur-
mured to himself. "For its mother, a Cow, For their dear
little child, a little Goat, is the most curiousest thing I ever
seen in my world!"
"Bruno's World!" I pondered. "Yes, I suppose every
child has a world of his own — and every man, too, for the
matter of that. I wonder if that's the cause for all the mis-
understanding there is in Life?"
"That must be Hunter's farm!" said Sylvie, pointing to
a house on the brow of the hill, led up to by a cart-road.
"There's no other farm in sight, this way; and you said we
must be nearly there by this time."
THE DOG-KING 555
I had thought it, while Bruno was cUmbing the gate,
but I couldn't remember having said it. However, Sylvie
was evidently in the right. "Get down, Bruno," I said,
"and open the gate for us."
"It's a good thing we's with oo, isn't it. Mister Sir?"
said Bruno, as we entered the field. "That big dog might
have bited oo, if oo'd been alone! Oo needn't be flight'
ened of it!" he whispered, clinging tight to my hand to
encourage me. "It aren't fierce!"
"Fierce!" Sylvie scornfully echoed, as the dog — a mag-
nificent Newfoundland — that had come galloping down
the field to meet us, began curveting round us, in gam-
bols full of graceful beauty, and welcoming us with short
joyful barks. "Fierce! Why, it's as gentle as a lamb! It's —
why, Bruno, don't you know it? It's — "
"So it areT cried Bruno, rushing forwards and throw-
ing his arms round its neck. "Oh, you dear dog!" And it
seemed as if the two children would never have done
hugging and stroking it.
"And how ever did he get here?'' said Bruno. "Ask
him, Sylvie. I doosn't know how."
And then began an eager talk in Doggee, which of
course was lost upon me; and I could only guess, when
the beautiful creature, with a sly glance at me, whispered
something in Sylvie's ear, that / was now the subject of
conversation. Sylvie looked round laughingly.
"He asked me who you are," she explained. "And I
said 'He's our friend J And he said 'What's his name?'
And I said 'It's Mister Sir.' And he said 'BoshI' "
"What is 'Bosh!' in Doggee?" I enquired.
"It's the same as in English," said Sylvie. "Only, when a
dog says it, it's a sort of a whisper, that's half a cough and
half a barf^, Nero, say 'Bosh!' "
556 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
And Nero, who had now begun gambohng round us
again, said ''BoshT several times; and I found that Syl-
vie's description of the sound was perfectly accurate.
"I wonder what's behind this long wall?" I said, as
we walked on.
"It's the Orchard,'' Sylvie replied, after a consultation
with Nero. "See, there's a boy getting down off the wall,
at that far corner. And now he's running away across the
field. I do believe he's been stealing the apples!"
Bruno set off after him, but returned to us in a few
moments, as he had evidently no chance of overtaking the
young rascal.
"I couldn't catch him!" he said. "I wiss I'd started a
little sooner. His pockets was full of apples!"
The Dog-King looked up at Sylvie, and said something
in Doggee.
"Why, of course you can!" Sylvie exclaimed. "How
stupid not to think of it! Nero'W hold him for us, Bruno!
But I'd better make him invisible, first." And she hastily
got out the Magic Jewel, and began waving it over Nero's
head, and down along his back.
"That'll do!" cried Bruno, impatiently. "After him,
good Doggie!"
"Oh, Bruno!" Sylvie exclaimed reproachfully. "You
shouldn't have sent him off so quick! I hadn't done the
tail!"
Meanwhile Nero was coursing like a grey-hound down
the field: so at least I concluded from all / could see of
him — the long feathery tail, which floated like a meteor
through the air — and in a very few seconds he had come
up with the little thief.
"He's got him safe, by one foot!" cried Sylvie, who was
eagerly watching the chase. "Now there's no hurry,
Bruno!"
THE DOG-KING 557
So we walked, quite leisurely, down the field, to where
the frightened lad stood. A more curious sight I had sel-
dom seen, in all my "eerie" experiences. Every bit of him
was in violent action, except the left foot, which was ap-
parently glued to the ground — there being nothing visibly
holding it: while, at some little distance, the long feathery
tail was waving gracefully from side to side, showing that
Nero, at least, regarded the whole affair as nothing but a
magnificent game of play.
"What's the matter with you?" I said, as gravely as I
could.
"Got the crahmp in me ahnkle!" the thief groaned in
reply. "An' me fut's gone to sleep!" And he began to
blubber aloud.
"Now, look here!" Bruno said in a commanding tone,
getting in front of him. "Oo've got to give up those ap-
ples!"
The lad glanced at me, but didn't seem to reckon my
interference as worth anything. Then he glanced at Syl-
vie: she clearly didn't count for very much, either. Then
he took courage. "It'll take a better man than any of yer
to get 'em!" he retorted defiantly.
Sylvie stooped and patted the invisible Nero. "A little
tighter!" she whispered. And a sharp yell from the ragged
boy showed how promptly the Dog-King had taken the
hint.
"What's the matter now?'' I said. "Is your ankle
worse?"
"And it'll get worse, and worse, and worse," Bruno
solemnly assured him, "till oo gives up those apples!"
Apparently the thief was convinced of this at last, and
he sulkily began emptying his pockets of the apples. The
children watched from a little distance, Bruno dancing
558 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
with delight at every fresh yell extracted from Nero's ter-
rified prisoner.
"That's all," the boy said at last.
"It isn't all!" cried Bruno. "There's three more in that
pocket!"
Another hint from Sylvie to the Dog-King — another
sharp yell from the thief, now convicted of lying also —
and the remaining three apples were surrendered.
"Let him go, please," Sylvie said in Doggee, and the
lad limped away at a great pace, stooping now and then
to rub the ailing ankle, in fear, seemingly, that the
"crahmp" might attack it again.
Bruno ran back, with his booty, to the orchard wall, and
pitched the apples over it one by one. "I's welly afraid
some of them's gone under the wrong trees!" he panted,
on overtaking us again.
"The wrong trees!" laughed Sylvie. "Trees cant do
wrong! There's no such things as wrong trees!"
"Then there's no such things as right trees, neither!"
cried Bruno. And Sylvie gave up the point.
"Wait a minute, please!" she said to me. "I must make
Nero visible^ you know!"
"No, please don't!" cried Bruno, who had by this time
mounted on the Royal back, and was twisting the Royal
hair into a bridle. "It'll be such fun to have him like this!"
"Well, it does look funny," Sylvie admitted, and led the
way to the farm-house, where the farmer's wife stood,
evidently much perplexed at the weird procession now
approaching her. "It's summat gone wrong wi' my spec-
tacles, I doubt!" she murmured, as she took them off, and
began diligently rubbing them with a corner of her apron.
Meanwhile Sylvie had hastily pulled Bruno down from
his steed, and had just time to make His Majesty wholly
visible before the spectacles were resumed.
MATILDA JANE 559
All was natural, now; but the good woman still looked
a little uneasy about it. "My eyesight's getting bad," she
said, "but I see you now^ my darlings! You'll give me a
kiss, wo'n't you?"
Bruno got behind me, in a moment: however Sylvie
put up her face, to be kissed, as representative of both^
and we all went in together.
Chapter V
Matilda Jane
"Come to me, my little gentleman," said our hostess, lift-
ing Bruno into her lap, "and tell me everything."
"I ca'n't," said Bruno. "There wouldn't be time. Besides,
I don't \now everything."
The good woman looked a little puzzled, and turned to
Sylvie for help. "Does he like riding?'' she asked.
"Yes, I thin\ so," Sylvie gently replied. "He's just had
a ride on NeroT
"Ah, Nero's a grand dog, isn't he ? Were you ever out-
side a horse ^ my little man?"
''Always!'' Bruno said with great decision. "Never was
inside one. Was oo?"
Here I thought it well to interpose, and to mention the
business on which we had come, and so relieved her, for a
few minutes, from Bruno's perplexing questions.
"And those dear children will like a bit of cake, I'll war-
rant!" said the farmer's hospitable wife, when the busi-
ness was concluded, as she opened her cupboard, and
brought out a cake. "And don't you waste the crust, little
gentleman!" she added, as she handed a good slice of it to
560 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Bruno. "You know what the poetry-book says about wil-
ful waste?"
"No, I don't," said Bruno. "What doos he say about it.?"
"Tell him, Bessie!" And the mother looked down,
proudly and lovingly, on a rosy little maiden, who had
just crept shyly into the room, and was leaning against
her knee. "What's that your poetry-book says about wil-
ful waste?"
"For wilful waste ma\es woeful want^' Bessie recited,
in an almost inaudible whisper: ''and you may live to say
'How much I wish I had the crust that then I threw
aw ay I
"Now try if you can say it, my dear! For wilful — "
"For wifful — sumfinoruvver — " Bruno began, readily
enough; and then there came a dead pause. "Ca'n't re-
member no more!"
"Well, what do you learn from it, then? You can tell
us that^ at any rate?"
Bruno ate a little more cake, and considered: but the
moral did not seem to him to be a very obvious one.
"Always to — " Sylvie prompted him in a whisper.
"Always to — " Bruno softly repeated: and then, with
sudden inspiration, "always to look where it goes to!"
"Where what goes to, darling?"
"Why the crusty a course!" said Bruno. "Then, if I lived
to say 'How much I wiss I had the crust — ' (and all that),
I'd know where I frew it to!"
This new interpretation quite puzzled the good woman.
She returned to the subject of "Bessie." "Wouldn't you
like to see Bessie's doll, my dears! Bessie, take the little
lady and gentleman to see Matilda Jane!"
Bessie's shyness thawed away in a moment. "Matilda
Jane has just woke up," she stated, confidentially, to Syl-
MATILDA JANE 561
vie. "Wo'n't you help me on with her frock? Them
strings is such a bother to tie!"
"I can tie strings^'' we heard, in Sylvie's gentle voice, as
the two little girls left the room together*. Bruno ignored
the whole proceeding, and strolled to the window, quite
with the air of a fashionable gentleman. Little girls, and
dolls, were not at all in his line.
And forthwith the fond mother proceeded to tell me (as
what mother is not ready to do?) of all Bessie's virtues
(and vices too, for the matter of that) and of the many
fearful maladies which, notwithstanding those ruddy
cheeks and that plump little figure, had nearly, time and
again, swept her from the face of the earth.
When the full stream of loving memories had nearly
run itself out, I began to question her about the working
men of that neighbourhood, and specially the "Willie,"
whom we had heard of at his cottage. "He was a good
fellow once," said my kind hostess : "but it's the drink has
ruined him! Not that I'd rob them of the drink — it's good
for the most of them — but there's some as is too weak to
stand agin' temptations: it's a thousand pities, for them^ as
they ever built the Golden Lion at the corner there!"
"The Golden Lion?" I repeated.
"It's the new Public," my hostess explained. "And it
stands right in the way, and handy for the workmen, as
they come back from the brickfields, as it might be to-day,
with their week's wages. A deal of money gets wasted
that way. And some of 'em gets drunk."
"If only they could have it in their own houses — " I
mused, hardly knowing I had said the words out loud.
"That's it!" she eagerly exclaimed. It was evidently a
solution, of the problem, that she had already thought out.
"If only you could manage, so's each man to have his own
562 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
little barrel in his own house — there'd hardly be a drunk-
en man in the length and breadth of the land!"
And then I told her the old story — about a certain cot-
tager who bought himself a little barrel of beer, and in-
stalled his wife as bar-keeper: and how, every time he
wanted his mug of beer, he regularly paid her over the
counter for it: and how she never would let him go on
"tick," and was a perfectly inflexible bar-keeper in never
letting him have more than his proper allowance: and
how, every time the barrel needed refilling, she had
plenty to do it with, and something over for her money-
box: and how, at the end of the year, he not only found
himself in first-rate health and spirits, with that unde-
finable but quite unmistakeable air which always distin-
guishes the sober man from the one who takes "a drop
too much," but had quite a box full of money, all saved
out of his own pence!
"If only they'd all do like that!" said the good woman,
wiping her eyes, which were overflowing with kindly
sympathy. "Drink hadn't need to be the curse it is to
some — "
"Only a curse^' I said, "when it is used wrongly. Any
of God's gifts may be turned into a curse, unless we use it
wisely. But we must be getting home. Would you call the
little girls? Matilda Jane has seen enough of company,
for one day, I'm sure!"
"I'll find 'em in a minute," said my hostess, as she rose
to leave the room. "Maybe that young gentleman saw
which way they went?"
"Where are they, Bruno?" I said.
"They ain't in the field," was Bruno's rather evasive re-
ply, " 'cause there's nothing but pigi there, and Sylvie isn't
a pig. Now don't imperrupt me any more, 'cause I'm tell-
ing a story to this fly; and it won't attend!"
MATILDA JANE 563
"They're among the apples, I'll warrant 'em!" said the
Farmer's wife. So we left Bruno to finish his story, and
went out into the orchard, where we soon came upon the
children, walking sedately side by side, Sylvie carrying
the doll, while little Bess carefully shaded its face, with a
large cabbage-leaf for a parasol.
As soon as they caught sight of us, little Bess dropped
her cabbage-leaf and came running to meet us, Sylvie fol-
lowing more slowly, as her precious charge evidently
needed great care and attention.
"I'm its Mamma, and Sylvie's the Head-Nurse," Bessie
explained: "and Sylvie's taught me ever such a pretty
song, for me to sing to Matilda Jane!"
"Let's hear it once more, Sylvie," I said, delighted at
getting the chance I had long wished for, of hearing her
sing. But Sylvie turned shy and frightened in a moment.
"No, please notV she said, in an earnest "aside" to me.
"Bessie knows it quite perfect now. Bessie can sing it!"
"Aye, aye! Let Bessie sing it!" said the proud mother.
"Bessie has a bonny voice of her own," (this again was an
"aside" to me) "though I say it as shouldn't!"
Bessie was only too happy to accept the "encore." So
the plump little Mamma sat down at our feet, with her
hideous daughter reclining stiffly across her lap (it was
one of a kind that wo'n't sit down, under any amount of
persuasion), and, with a face simply beaming with de-
light, began the lullaby, in a shout that ought to have
frightened the poor baby into fits. The Head-Nurse
crouched down behind her, keeping herself respectfully
in the back-ground, with her hands on the shoulders of
her little mistress, so as to be ready to act as Prompter, if
required, and to supply ^'^^c^ gap in faithless memory
voidr
^ The shout, with which she began, proved to be only a
564 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
momentary eflfort. After a very few notes, Bessie toned
down, and sang on in a small but very sweet voice. At
first her great black eyes were fixed on her mother, but
soon her gaze wandered upwards, among the apples, and
she seemed to have quite forgotten that she had any other
audience than her Baby, and her Head-Nurse, who once
or twice supplied, almost inaudibly, the right note, when
the singer was getting a little "flat."
"Matilda Jane, you never loo\
At any toy or picture-boo^:
I show you pretty things in vain —
You must be blind, Matilda Jane!
"I as\ you riddles, tell you tales.
But all our conversation jails:
You never anstver me again —
/ ]ear you re dumb, Matilda Jane!
''Matilda, darling, tvhen 1 call.
You never seem to hear at all:
I shout with all my might and main —
But you re so deaj, Matilda Jane!
"Matilda Jane, you needn't mind:
For, though you're deaj, and dumb, and blind.
There's some one loves you, it is plain —
And that is me, Matilda Jane!"
She sang three of the verses in a rather perfunctory
style, but the last stanza evidently excited the little maid-
en. Her voice rose, ever clearer and louder: she had a rapt
look on her face, as if suddenly inspired, and, as she sang
the last few words, she clasped to her heart the inatten-
tive Matilda Jane.
"Kiss it now!" prompted the Head-Nurse. And in a
MATILDA JANE 565
moment the simpering meaningless face of the Baby was
covered with a shower of passionate kisses.
"What a bonny song!" cried the Farmer's wife. "Who
made the words, dearie?"
"I — I think I'll look for Bruno," Sylvie said demurely,
and left us hastily. The curious child seemed always afraid
of being praised, or even noticed.
"Sylvie planned the words," Bessie informed us, proud
of her superior information: "and Bruno planned the
music — and / sang it!" (this last circumstance, by the way,
we did not need to be told).
So we followed Sylvie, and all entered the parlour to-
gether. Bruno was still standing at the window, with his
elbows on the sill. He had, apparently, finished the story
that he was telling to the fly, and had found a new occu-
pation. "Don't imperrupt!" he said as we came in. "I'm
counting the Pigs in the field!"
"How many are there?" I enquired.
"About a thousand and four," said Bruno.
"You mean *about a thousand,' " Sylvie corrected him*
"There's no good saying 'and jour: you can't be sure
about the four!"
"And you're as wrong as ever!" Bruno exclaimed tri-
umphantly. "It's just the four I can be sure about; 'cause
they're here, grubbling under the window! It's the thou-
sand I isn't pruflickly sure about!"
"But some of them have gone into the sty," Sylvie said,
leaning over him to look out of the window.
"Yes," said Bruno; "but they went so slowly and so
fewly, I didn't care to count themT
"We must be going, children," I said. "Wish Bessie
good-bye." Sylvie flung her arms round the little maiden's
neck, and kissed her : but Bruno stood aloof, looking un-
usually shy. ("I never kiss nobody but Sylvie!" he ex-
566 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
plained to me afterwards.) The farmer's wife showed us
out: and we were soon on our way back to Elveston.
"And that's the new pubhc-house that we were talking
about, I suppose?" I said, as we came in sight of a long
low building, with the words "The Golden Lion" over
the door.
"Yes, that's it," said Sylvie. "I wonder if her Willie's
inside ? Run in, Bruno, and see if he's there."
I interposed, feeling that Bruno was, in a sort of way, in
my care. "That's not a place to send a child into." For
already the revelers were getting noisy: and a wild dis-
cord of singing, shouting, and meaningless laughter came
to us through the open windows.
"They wo'n't see him, you know," Sylvie explained.
"Wait a minute, Bruno!" She clasped the jewel, that al-
ways hung round her neck, between the palms of her
hands, and muttered a few words to herself. What they
were I could not at all make out, but some mysterious
change seemed instantly to pass over us. My feet seemed
to me no longer to press the ground, and the dream-like
feeling came upon me, that I was suddenly endowed with
the power of floating in the air. I could still just see the
children: but their forms were shadowy and unsubstan-
tial, and their voices sounded as if they came from some
distant place and time, they were so unreal. However, I
offered no further opposition to Bruno's going into the
house. He was back again in a few moments. "No, he
isn't come yet," he said. "They're talking about him in-
side, and saying how drunk he was last week."
While he was speaking, one of the men lounged out
through the door, a pipe in one hand and a mug of beer
in the other, and crossed to where we were standing, so
as to get a better view along the road. Two or three others
leaned out through the open window, each holding his
MATILDA JANE 567
mug of beer, with red faces and sleepy eyes. "Canst see
him, lad?" one of them asked.
"I dunnot know," the man said, taking a step forwards,
which brought us nearly face to face. Sylvie hastily pulled
me out of his way. "Thanks, child," I said. "I had forgot-
ten he couldn't see us. What would have happened if I
had staid in his way?"
"I don't know," Sylvie said gravely. "It wouldn't matter
to us; but you may be different." She said this in her us-
ual voice, but the man took no sort of notice, though she
was standing close in front of him, and looking up into
his face as she spoke.
"He's coming now!" cried Bruno, pointing down the
road.
"He be a-coomin noo!" echoed the man, stretching out
his arm exactly over Bruno's head, and pointing with his
pipe.
"Then chorus agin!" was shouted out by one of the
red-faced men in the window: and forthwith a dozen
voices yelled, to a harsh discordant melody, the refrain : —
''There's him, an yo' , an' me,
Roar in lad die si
We loves a bit o' spree,
Roar in laddies we,
Roarin laddies
Roarin lad die si"
The man lounged back again to the house, joining lust-
ily in the chorus as he went : so that only the children and
I were in the road when "Willie" came up.
Chapter VI
Willie's Wife
He made for the door of the pubHc-house, but the chil-
dren intercepted him. Sylvie clung to one arm; while
Bruno, on the opposite side, was pushing him with all his
strength, and many inarticulate cries of "Gee-up! Gee-
back! Woah then!" which he had picked up from the
waggoners.
"Willie" took not the least notice of them: he was sim-
ply conscious that something had checked him: and, for
want of any other way of accounting for it, he seemed to
regard it as his own act.
"I wunnut coom in," he said: "not to-day."
"A mug o' beer wunnut hurt 'ee!" his friends shouted
in chorus. ''Two mugs wunnut hurt 'ee! Nor a dozen
mugs!"
"Nay," said Willie. "Fm agoan whoam."
"What, withouten thy drink, Willie man?" shouted the
others. But "Willie man" would have no more discussion,
and turned doggedly away, the children keeping one on
each side of him, to guard him against any change in his
sudden resolution.
For a while he walked on stoutly enough, keeping his
hands in his pockets, and softly whistling a tune, in time
to his heavy tread : his success, in appearing entirely at his
ease, was almost complete; but a careful observer would
have noted that he had forgotten the second part of the
air, and that, when it broke down, he instantly began it
again, being too nervous to think of another, and too rest-
less to endure silence.
It was not the old fear that possessed him now — the old
fear, that had been his dreary companion every Saturday
568
Willie's wife 569
night he could remember as he had reeled along, steady-
ing himself against gates and garden-palings, and when
the shrill reproaches of his wife had seemed to his dazed
brain only the echo of a yet more piercing voice within,
the intolerable wail of a hopeless remorse : it was a wholly
new fear that had come to him now: life had taken on
itself a new set of colours, and was lighted up with a new
and dazzling radiance, and he did not see, as yet, how
his home-life, and his wife and child, would fit into the
new order of things : the very novelty of it all was, to his
simple mind, a perplexity and an overwhelming terror.
And now the tune died into sudden silence on the
trembling lips, as he turned a sharp corner, and came in
sight of his own cottage, where his wife stood, leaning
with folded arms on the wicket-gate, and looking up the
road with a pale face, that had in it no glimmer of the
light of hope — only the heavy shadow of a deep stony
despair.
"Fine an' early, lad! Fine an' early!" The words might
have been words of welcoming, but oh, the bitterness of
the tone in which she said it! "What brings thee from thy
merry mates, and all the fiddling and the jigging? Pock-
ets empty, I doubt ? Or thou'st come, mebbe, or to see thy
little one die? The bairnie's clemmed, and I've nor bite
nor sup to gie her. But what does thou care?" She flung
the gate open, and met him with blazing eyes of fury.
The man said no word. Slowly, and with downcast
eyes, he passed into the house, while she, half terrified at
his strange silence, followed him in without another
word; and it was not till he had sunk into a chair, with
his arms crossed on the table and with drooping head, that
she found her voice again.
It seemed entirely natural for us to go in with them: at
another time one would have asked leave for this, but I
570 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
felt, I knew not why, that we were in some mysterious
way invisible, and as free to come and to go as disem-
bodied spirits.
The child in the cradle woke up, and raised a piteous
cry, which in a moment brought the children to its side :
Bruno rocked the cradle, while Sylvie tenderly replaced
the little head on the pillow from which it had slipped.
But the mother took no heed of the cry, nor yet of the sat-
isfied "coo" that it set up when Sylvie had made it happy
again: she only stood gazing at her husband, and vainly
trying, with white quivering lips (I believe she thought he
was mad), to speak in the old tones of shrill upbraiding
that he knew so well.
"And thou'st spent all thy wages — I'll swear thou hast
— on the devil's own drink — and thou'st been and made
thysen a beast again — as thou alius dost — "
"Hasna!" the man muttered, his voice hardly rising
above a whisper, as he slowly emptied his pockets on the
table. "There's th' wage, Missus, every penny on't."
The woman gasped, and put one hand to her heart, as if
under some great shock of surprise. "Then how's thee got-
ten th' drink?"
"Hasna gotten it," he answered her, in a tone more sad
than sullen. "I hanna touched a drop this blessed day.
No!" he cried aloud, bringing his clenched fist heavily
down upon the table, and looking up at her with gleam-
ing eyes, "nor I'll never touch another drop o' the cursed
drink — till I die — so help me God my Maker!" His voice,
which had suddenly risen to a hoarse shout, dropped
again as suddenly : and once more he bowed his head, and
buried his face in his folded arms.
The woman had dropped upon her knees by the cradle,
while he was speaking. She neither looked at him nor
seemed to hear him. With hands clasped above her head,
WILLIE S WIFE 571
she rocked herself wildly to and fro. "Oh my God! Oh my
God!" was all she said, over and over again.
Sylvie and Bruno gendy unclasped her hands and drew
them down — till she had an arm round each of them,
though she took no notice of them, but knelt on with eyes
gazing upwards, and lips that moved as if in silent thanks-
giving. The man kept his face hidden, and uttered no
sound: but one could see the sobs that shook him from
head to foot.
After a while he raised his head — his face all wet with
tears. "Polly!" he said softly; and then, louder, "Old Poll!"
Then she rose from her knees and came to him, with a
dazed look, as if she were walking in her sleep. "Who
was it called me old Poll?" she asked: her voice took on
it a tender playfulness: her eyes sparkled; and the rosy
light of Youth flushed her pale cheeks, till she looked
more like a happy girl of seventeen than a worn woman
of forty. "Was that my own lad, my Willie, a-waiting for
me at the stile?"
His face too was transformed, in the same magic light,
to the likeness of a bashful boy: and boy and girl they
seemed, as he wound an arm about her, and drew her to
his side, while with the other hand he thrust from him the
heap of money, as though it were something hateful to
the touch. "Tak it, lass," he said, "tak it all! An' fetch us
summat to eat: but get a sup o' milk, first, for t' bairn."
"My little bairn!" she murmured as she gathered up the
coins. "My own little lassie!" Then she moved to the door,
and was passing out, but a sudden thought seemed to ar-
rest her : she hastily returned — first to kneel down and kiss
the sleeping child, and then to throw herself into her
husband's arms and be strained to his heart. The next
moment she was on her way, taking with her a jug that
hung on a peg near the door : we followed close behind.
572 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
We had not gone far before we came in sight of a
swinging sign-board bearing the word "dairy" on it, and
here she went in, welcomed by a Httle curly white dog,
who, not being under the "eerie" influence, saw the chil-
dren, and received them with the most effusive affection.
When I got inside, the dairyman was in the act of taking
the money. "Is't for thysen. Missus, or for t' bairn?" he
asked, when he had filled the jug, pausing with it in his
hand.
"For t' bairnr she said, almost reproachfully. "Think'st
tha I'd touch a drop mysen^ while as she hadna got her
fill?"
"All right, Missus," the man replied, turning away with
the jug in his hand. "Let's just mak sure it's good meas-
ure." He went back among his shelves of milk-bowls, care-
fully keeping his back towards her while he emptied a lit-
tle measure of cream into the jug, muttering to himself
"mebbe it'll hearten her up a bit, the little lassie!"
The woman never noticed the kind deed, but took back
the jug with a simple "Good evening, Master," and went
her way : but the children had been more observant, and,
as we followed her out, Bruno remarked "That were
welly kind : and I loves that man : and if I was welly rich
I'd give him a hundred pounds — and a bun. That little
grummeling dog doosn't know its business!" He referred
to the dairyman's little dog, who had apparently quite
forgotten the affectionate welcome he had given us on
our arrival, and was now following at a respectful dis-
tance, doing his best to ''speed the parting guest'' with a
shower of little shrill barks, that seemed to tread on one
another's heels.
"What is a dog's business?" laughed Sylvie. "Dogs
ca'n't keep shops and give change!"
WILLIE S WIFE 573
"Sisters' businesses isn't to laugh at their brothers,"
Bruno repHed with perfect gravity. "And dogs' businesses
is to barli — not Uke that: it should finish one bark before
it begins another: and it should — Oh Sylvie, there's some
dindledums!"
And in another moment the happy children were flying
across the common, racing for the patch of dandelions.
While I stood watching them, a strange dreamy feeling
came upon me: a railway-platform seemed to take the
place of the green sward, and, instead of the light figure
of Sylvie bounding along, I seemed to see the flying form
of Lady Muriel; but whether Bruno had also undergone
a transformation, and had become the old man whom she
was running to overtake, I was unable to judge, so in-
stantaneously did the feeling come and go.
When I re-entered the little sitting-room which I shared
with Arthur, he was standing with his back to me, look-
ing out of the open window, and evidently had not heard
me enter. A cup of tea, apparently just tasted and pushed
aside, stood on the table, on the opposite side of which was
a letter, just begun, with the pen lying across it: an open
book lay on the sofa : the London paper occupied the easy
chair; and on the little table, which stood by it, I noticed
an unlighted cigar and an open box of cigar-lights: all
things betokened that the Doctor, usually so methodical
and so self-contained, had been trying every form of oc-
cupation, and could settle to none!
"This is very unlike you^ Doctor!" I was beginning, but
checked myself, as he turned at the sound of my voice, in
sheer amazement at the wonderful change that had taken
place in his appearance. Never had I seen a face so radi-
ant with happiness, or eyes that sparkled with such un-
earthly light! "Even thus," I thought, "must the herald-
574 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
angel have looked, who brought to the shepherds, watch-
ing over their flocks by night, that sweet message of 'peace
on earth, good-will to men!''
"Yes, dear friend!" he said, as if in. answer to the ques-
tion that I suppose he read in my face. "It is true! It is
true!"
No need to ask what was true. "God bless you both!" I
said, as I felt the happy tears brimming to my eyes. "You
were made for each other!"
"Yes," he said, simply, "I believe we were. And what
a change it makes in one's Life! This isn't the same
world! That isn't the sky I saw yesterday! Those clouds —
I never saw such clouds in all my life before! They look
like troops of hovering angels!"
To me they looked very ordinary clouds indeed: but
then I had not fed ''on Jioneydew, And drun\ the mil\ of
Paradise''!
"She wants to see you — at once," he continued, de-
scending suddenly to the things of earth. "She says that is
the one drop yet wanting in her cup of happiness!"
"I'll go at once," I said, as I turned to leave the room.
"Wo'n't you come with me?"
"No, Sir!" said the Doctor, with a sudden effort —
which proved an utter failure — to resume his professional
manner. "Do I loo/{ like coming with you? Have you
never heard that two is company, and — "
"Yes," I said, "I hat/e heard it: and I'm painfully aware
that / am Number Three! But, when shall we three meet
agam r
"When the hurly-burly s done!" he answered with a
happy laugh, such as I had not heard from him for many
a year.
Chapter VII
Mein Herr
Sol went on my lonely way, and, on reaching the Hall, I
found Lady Muriel standing at the garden-gate waiting
for me.
"No need to give you joy, or to wish you joy?" I began.
"None whateverT she replied, with the joyous laugh of
a child. "We give people what they haven't got: we wish
for something that is yet to come. For me, it's all herel It's
all mine! Dear friend," she suddenly broke off, "do you
think Heaven ever begins on Earthy for any of us?"
"For some,'' I said. "For some, perhaps, who are simple
and childlike. You know He said 'of such is the Kingdom
of Heaven.' "
Lady Muriel clasped her hands, and gazed up into the
cloudless sky, with a look I had often seen in Sylvie's eyes.
"I feel as if it had begun for m<f," she almost whispered.
"I feel as if / were one of the happy children, whom He
bid them bring near to Him, though the people would
have kept them back. Yes, He has seen me in the throng.
He has read the wistful longing in my eyes. He has beck-
oned me to Him. They have had to make way for me.
He has taken me up in His arms. He has put His hands
upon me and blessed me!" She paused, breathless in her
perfect happiness.
"Yes," I said. "I think He has!"
"You must come and speak to my father," she went on,
as we stood side by side at the gate, looking down the
shady lane. But, even as she said the words, the "eerie"
sensation came over me like a flood: I saw the dear old
Professor approaching us, and also saw, what was strang-
er still, that he was visible to Lady Muriel!
575
576 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
What was to be done? Had the fairy-Ufe been merged
in the real H£e? Or was Lady Muriel "eerie" also, and thus
able to enter into the fairy-world along with me? The
words were on my lips ("I see an old friend of mine in
the lane : if you don't know him, may I introduce him to
you?") when the strangest thing of all happened: Lady
Muriel spoke.
"I see an old friend of mine in the lane," she said: "if
you don't know him, may I introduce him to you?"
I seemed to wake out of a dream: for the "eerie" feeling
was still strong upon me, and the figure outside seemed
to be changing at every moment, like one of the shapes in
a kaleidoscope: now he was the Professor, and now he
was somebody else! By the time he had reached the gate,
he certainly was somebody else : and I felt that the proper
course was for Lady Muriel, not for me, to introduce him.
She greeted him kindly, and, opening the gate, admitted
the venerable old man — a German, obviously — who
looked about him with dazed eyes, as if he, too, had but
just awaked from a dream!
No, it was certainly not the Professor! My old friend
could not have grown that magnificent beard since last
we met: moreover, he would have recognised me, for I
was certain that / had not changed much in the time.
As it was, he simply looked at me vaguely, and took
off his hat in response to Lady Muriel's words "Let me
introduce Mein Herr to you"; while in the words, spoken
in a strong German accent, "proud to make your ac-
quaintance, Sir!" I could detect no trace of an idea that
we had ever met before.
Lady Muriel led us to the well-known shady nook,
where preparations for afternoon-tea had already been
made, and, while she went in to look for the Earl, we
MEIN HERR 577
seated ourselves in two easy-chairs, and "Mein Herr" took
up Lady Muriel's work, and examined it through his
large spectacles (one of the adjuncts that made him so
provokingly like the Professor). "Hemming pocket-hand-
kerchiefs?" he said, musingly. "So that is what the Eng-
lish miladies occupy themselves with, is it?"
"It is the one accomplishment," I said, "in which Man
has never yet rivaled Woman!"
Here Lady Muriel returned with her father; and, after
he had exchanged some friendly words with "Mein
Herr," and we had all been supplied with the needful
"creature-comforts," the newcomer returned to the sug-
gestive subject of Pocket-handkerchiefs.
"You have heard of Fortunatus's Purse, Miladi? Ah,
so! Would you be surprised to hear that, with three of
these leetle handkerchiefs, you shall make the Purse of
Fortunatus, quite soon, quite easily?"
"Shall I indeed?" Lady Muriel eagerly replied, as she
took a heap of them into her lap, and threaded her
needle. ''Please tell me how, Mein Herr! I'll make one be-
fore I touch another drop of tea!"
"You shall first," said Mein Herr, possessing himself of
two of the handkerchiefs, spreading one upon the other,
and holding them up by two corners, "you shall first join
together these upper corners, the right to the right, the left
to the left; and the opening between them shall be the
mouth of the Purse."
A very few stitches sufficed to carry out this direction.
"Now, if I sew the other three edges together," she sug-
gested, "the bag is complete?"
"Not so, Miladi: the lower edges shall first be joined —
ah, not so!" (as she was beginning to sew them together).
"Turn one of them over, and join the right lower corner
578 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
o£ the one to the left lower corner of the other, and sew
the lower edges together in what you would call the
wrong wayT
"/ see!" said Lady Muriel, as she deftly executed the
order. "And a very twisted, uncomfortable, uncanny-
looking bag it makes! But the moral is a lovely one. Un-
limited wealth can only be attained by doing things in
the wrong way! And how are we to join up these mys-
terious— no, I mean this mysterious opening?" (twisting
the thing round and round with a puzzled air.) "Yes, it
is one opening. I thought it was two^ at first."
"You have seen the puzzle of the Paper Ring?" Mein
Herr said, addressing the Earl. "Where you take a slip of
paper, and join its ends together, first twisting one, so as
to join the upper corner of one end to the lower corner of
the other?''
"I saw one made, only yesterday," the Earl replied.
"Muriel, my child, were you not making one, to amuse
those children you had to tea?"
"Yes, I know that Puzzle," said Lady Muriel. "The
Ring has only one surface, and only one edge. It's very
mysterious!"
"The bag is just like that, isn't it?" I suggested. "Is not
the outer surface of one side of it continuous with the
inner surface of the other side ?"
"So it is!" she exclaimed. "Only it isnt a bag, just yet.
How shall we fill up this opening, Mein Herr?"
"Thus!" said the old man impressively, taking the bag
from her, and rising to his feet in the excitement of the
explanation. "The edge of the opening consists of jour
handkerchief-edges, and you can trace it continuously,
round and round the opening: down the right edge of
one handkerchief, up the left edge of the other ^ and then
MEIN HERR 579
down the left edge o£ the one^ and up the right edge o£
the otherT
"So you can!" Lady Muriel murmured thoughtfully,
leaning her head on her hand, and earnestly watching the
old man. "And that proves it to be only one opening!"
She looked so strangely like a child, puzzling over a
difficult lesson, and Mein Herr had become, for the mo-
ment, so strangely like the old Professor, that I felt utter-
ly bewildered: the "eerie" feeling was on me in its full
force, and I felt almost impelled to say "Do you under-
stand it, Sylvie?" However I checked myself by a great
effort, and let the dream (if indeed it was a dream) go on
to its end.
"Now, this third handkerchief," Mein Herr proceeded,
"has also four edges, which you can trace continuously
round and round: all you need do is to join its four edges
to the four edges of the opening. The Purse is then com-
plete, and its outer surface — "
"/ see!" Lady Muriel eagerly interrupted. "Its outer sur-
face will be continuous with its inner surface! But it will
take time. I'll sew it up after tea." She laid aside the bag,
and resumed her cup of tea. "But why do you call it For-
tunatus's Purse, Mein Herr?"
The dear old man beamed upon her, with a jolly smile,
looking more exactly like the Professor than ever. "Don't
you see, my child — I should say Miladi? Whatever is in-
side that Purse, is outside it; and whatever is outside it, is
inside it. So you have all the wealth of the world in that
leetle Purse!"
His pupil clapped her hands, in unrestrained delight.
"I'll certainly sew the third handkerchief in — some time,"
she said: "but I wo'n't take up your time by trying it now.
Tell us some more wonderful things, please!" And her
580 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
face and her voice so exactly recalled Sylvie, that I could
not help glancing round, half-expecting to see Bruno also!
Mein Herr began thoughtfully balancing his spoon on
the edge of his teacup, while he pondered over this re-
quest. "Something wonderful — like Fortunatus's Purse?
That will give you — when it is made — wealth beyond
your wildest dreams: but it will not give you Timer
A pause of silence ensued — utilised by Lady Muriel for
the very practical purpose of refilling the teacups.
"In your country," Mein Herr began with a startling
abruptness, "what becomes of all the wasted Time?"
Lady Muriel looked grave. "Who can tell?" she half-
whispered to herself. "All one knows is that it is gone —
past recall!"
"Well, in my — I mean in a country / have visited," said
the old man, "they store it up: and it comes in very use-
ful, years afterwards! For example, suppose you have a
long tedious evening before you : nobody to talk to : noth-
ing you care to do: and yet hours too soon to go to bed.
How do you behave then ?"
"I get very cross," she frankly admitted: "and I want
to throw things about the room!"
"When that happens to — to the people I have visited,
they never act so. By a short and simple process — which I
cannot explain to you — they store up the useless hours:
and, on some other occasion, when they happen to need
extra time, they get them out again."
The Earl was listening with a slightly incredulous
smile. "Why cannot you explain the process?" he en-
quired.
Mein Herr was ready with a quiet unanswerable rea-
son. "Because you have no words^ in your language, to
convey the ideas which are needed. I could explain it in —
in — but vou would not understand it!"
MEIN HERR 581
"No indeed!" said Lady Muriel, graciously dispensing
with the name o£ the unknown language. "I never learnt
it — at least, not to speak it fluently^ you know. Please tell
us some more wonderful things!"
"They run their railway-trains without any engines —
nothing is needed but machinery to stop them with. Is
that wonderful enough, Miladi?"
"But where does the force come from?" I ventured to
ask.
Mein Herr turned quickly round, to look at the new
speaker. Then he took oflE his spectacles, and polished
them, and looked at me again, in evident bewilderment. I
could see he was thinking — as indeed / was also — that we
must have met before.
"They use the force of gravity^'' he said. "It is a force
known also in your country, I believe?"
"But that would need a railway going down-hilly'' the
Earl remarked. "You ca'n't have all your railways going
down-hill ? "
"They all do," said Mein Herr.
"Not from Z?(9//? ends?"
"From both ends."
"Then I give it up!" said the Earl.
"Can you explain the process?" said Lady Muriel.
"Without using that language, that I ca'n't speak flu-
ently?"
"Easily," said Mein Herr. "Each railway is in a long
tunnel, perfectly straight: so of course the middle of it is
nearer the centre of the globe than the two ends : so every
train runs half-way down-hill, and that gives it force
enough to run the other half up-hilV
"Thank you. I understand that perfectly," said Lady
Muriel. "But the velocity, in the middle of the tunnel,
must be something fearful!''
582 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Mein Herr was evidently much gratified at the intelH-
gent interest Lady Muriel took in his remarks. At every
moment the old man seemed to grow more chatty and
more fluent. "You would like to know our methods of
driving?'' he smilingly enquired. "To us, a run-away
horse is of no import at all!"
Lady Muriel slightly shuddered. "To us it is a very real
danger," she said.
"That is because your carriage is wholly behind your
horse. Your horse runs. Your carriage follows. Perhaps
your horse has the bit in his teeth. Who shall stop him?
You fly, ever faster and faster! Finally comes the in-
evitable upset!"
"But suppose your horse manages to get the bit in his
teeth?"
"No matter! We would not concern ourselves. Our
horse is harnessed in the very centre of our carriage. Two
wheels are in front of him, and two behind. To the roof
is attached one end of a broad belt. This goes under the
horse's body, and the other end is attached to a leetle —
what you call a 'windlass,' I think. The horse takes the
bit in his teeth. He runs away. We are flying at ten miles
an hour! We turn our little windlass, five turns, six turns,
seven turns, and — poof! Our horse is off the ground! Now
let him gallop in the air, as much as he pleases: our car-
riage stands still. We sit round him, and watch him till he
is tired. Then we let him down. Our horse is glad, very
much glad, when his feet once more touch the ground!"
"Capital!" said the Earl, who had been listening atten-
tively. "Are there any other peculiarities in your car-
riages r
"In the wheels^ sometimes, my Lord. For your health,
you go to sea : to be pitched, to be rolled, occasionally to be
MEIN HERR 583
drowned. We do all that on land: we are pitched, as you;
we are rolled, as you; but drowned, no! There is no
water!"
"What are the wheels like, then?"
"They are oval, my Lord. Therefore the carriages rise
and fall."
"Yes, and pitch the carriage backwards and forwards:
but how do they make it roll?''
"They do not match, my Lord. The end of one wheel
answers to the side of the opposite wheel. So first one side
of the carriage rises, then the other. And it pitches all the
while. Ah, you must be a good sailor, to drive in our
boat-carriages!"
"I can easily believe it," said the Earl.
Mein Herr rose to his feet. "I must leave you now, Mi-
ladi," he said, consulting his watch. "I have another en-
gagement."
"I only wish we had stored up some extra time!" Lady
Muriel said, as she shook hands with him. "Then we
could have kept you a little longer!"
"In that case I would gladly stay," replied Mein Herr.
"As it is — I fear I must say good-bye!"
"Where did you first meet him?" I asked Lady Muriel,
when Mein Herr had left us. "And where does he live?
And what is his real name?"
"We first — met — him — " she musingly replied, "really,
I ca'n't remember where! And I've no idea where he lives!
And I never heard any other name! It's very curious. It
never occurred to me before to consider what a mystery
he is!"
"I hope we shall meet again," I said: "he interests me
verv much."
"He will be at our farewell-party, this day fortnight,"
584 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
said the Earl. "Of course you will come? Muriel is anxious
to gather all our friends around us once more, before we
leave the place."
And then he explained to me — as Lady Muriel had left
us together — that he was so anxious to get his daughter
away from a place full of so many painful memories con-
nected with the now-canceled engagement with Major
Lindon, that they had arranged to have the wedding in a
month's time, after which Arthur and his wife were to go
on a foreign tour.
"Don't forget Tuesday week!" he said as we shook
hands at parting. "I only wish you could bring with you
those charming children, that you introduced to us in the
summer. Talk of the mystery of Mein Herr! That's noth-
ing to the mystery that seems to attend them 1 1 shall never
forget those marvellous flowers!"
"I will bring them if I possibly can," I said. But how to
fulfil such a promise, I mused to myself on my way back
to our lodgings, was a problem entirely beyond my skill!
Chapter VIII
In a Shady Place
The ten days glided swiftly away: and, the day before the
great party was to take place, Arthur proposed that we
should stroll down to the Hall, in time for afternoon-tea.
"Hadn't you better go alone?'' I suggested. "Surely /
shall be very much de trop?''
"Well, it'll be a kind of experiment,'' he said. ''Fiat ex-
perimentum in corpore vili!'^ he added, with a graceful
bow of mock politeness towards the unfortunate victim.
IN A SHADY PLACE 585
"You see I shall have to bear the sight, to-morrow night, of
my lady-love making herself agreeable to everybody except
the right person, and I shall bear the agony all the better
if we have a dress-rehearsal beforehand!"
"A/y part in the play being, apparently, that of the
sample wrong person?"
"Well, no," Arthur said musingly, as we set forth:
"there's no such part in a regular company. 'Heavy Fa-
ther'? That won't do: that's filled already. 'Singing Cham-
bermaid'? Well, the Tirst Lady' doubles that part. 'Comic
Old Man' ? You're not comic enough. After all, I'm afraid
there's no part for you but the 'Well-dressed Villain':
only," wdth a critical side-glance, "I'm a leetle uncertain
about the dress!"
We found Lady Muriel alone, the Earl having gone out
to make a call, and at once resumed old terms of intimacy,
in the shady arbour where the tea-things seemed to be al-
ways waiting. The only novelty in the arrangements (one
which Lady Muriel seemed to regard as entirely a matter
of course), was that two of the chairs were placed quite
close together, side by side. Strange to say, / was not in-
vited to occupy either of them!
"We have been arranging, as we came along, about let-
ter-writing," Arthur began. "He will want to know how
we're enjoying our Swiss tour: and of course we must pre-
tend we are?''
"Of course," she meekly assented.
"And the skeleton-in-the-cupboard — " I suggested.
" — is always a difficulty," she quickly put in, "when
you're traveling about, and when there are no cupboards
in the hotels. However, ours is a very portable one; and
will be neatly packed, in a nice leather case — "
"But please don't think about writing^'' I said, "when
you've anything more attractive on hand. I delight in
586 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
reading letters, but I know well how tiring it is to write
them."
"It is, sometimes," Arthur assented. "For instance, when
you're very shy of the person you have to write to."
"Does that show itself in the letter?'' Lady Muriel en-
quired. "Of course, when I hear any one talking — you, for
instance — I can see how desperately shy he is! But can
you see that in a letter?'^
"Well, of course, when you hear any one talk fluently
— you, for instance — you can see how desperately unshy
she is — not to say saucy! But the shyest and most inter-
mittent talker must seem fluent in letter-writing. He may
have taken half-an-hour to compose his second sentence;
but there it is, close after the first!"
"Then letters don't express all that they might express?"
"That's merely because our system of letter-writing is
incomplete. A shy writer ought to be able to show that he
is so. Why shouldn't he make pauses in writing, just as he
would do in speaking ? He might leave blank spaces — say
half a page at a time. And a very shy girl — if there is such
a thing — might write a sentence on the first sheet of her
letter — then put in a couple of blan\ sheets — then a sen-
tence on the fourth sheet : and so on."
"I quite foresee that we — I mean this clever little boy
and myself — " Lady Muriel said to me, evidently with the
kind wish to bring me into the conversation, " — are going
to become famous — of course all our inventions are com-
mon property now — for a new Code of Rules for Letter-
writing! Please invent some more, little boy!"
"Well, another thing greatly needed, little girl, is some
way of expressing that we dont mean anything."
"Explain yourself, little boy! Surely you can find no
difficulty in expressing a total absence of meaning?"
"I mean that you should be able, when you don't mean
IN A SHADY PLACE 587
a thing to be taken seriously, to express that wish. For hu-
man nature is so constituted that whatever you write ser-
iously is taken as a joke, and whatever you mean as a
joke is taken seriously! At any rate, it is so in writing to
a ladyT
"Ah! you're not used to writing to ladies!" Lady Muriel
remarked, leaning back in her chair, and gazing thought-
fully into the sky. "You should try."
"Very good," said Arthur. "How many ladies may 1
begin writing to? As many as I can count on the fingers
of both hands?"
"As many as you can count on the thumbs of one
hand!" his lady-love replied with much severity. "What a
very naughty little boy he is! Isn't he?" (with an appeal-
ing glance at me) .
"He's a little fractious," I said. "Perhaps he's cutting a
tooth." While to myself I said "How exaetly like Sylvie
talking to Bruno!"
"He wants his tea." (The naughty little boy volunteered
the information.) "He's getting very tired, at the mere
prospect of the great party to-morrow!"
"Then he shall have a good rest before-hand!" she
soothingly replied. "The tea isn't made yet. Come, little
boy, lean well back in your chair, and think about nothing
— or about me, whichever you prefer!"
"All the same, all the same!" Arthur sleepily mur-
mured, watching her with loving eyes, as she moved her
chair away to the tea table, and began to make the tea.
"Then he'll wait for his tea, like a good, patient little
boy!"
"Shall I bring you the London Papers?" said Lady Mu-
riel. "I saw them lying on the table as I came out, but my
father said there was nothing in them, except that horrid
murder-trial." (Society was just then enjoying its daily
588 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
thrill of excitement in studying the details o£ a specially
sensational murder in a thieve's den in the East of Lon-
don.)
"I have no appetite for horrors," Arthur replied. "But I
hope we have learned the lesson they should teach us —
though we are very apt to read it backwards!"
"You speak in riddles," said Lady Muriel. "Please ex-
plain yourself. See now," suiting the action to the word, "I
am sitting at your feet, just as if you were a second Gama-
liel! Thanks, no." (This was to me, who had risen to
bring her chair back to its former place.) "Pray don't dis-
turb yourself. This tree and the grass make a very nice
easy-chair. What is the lesson that one always reads
WTung :
P"
Arthur was silent for a minute. "I would like to be clear
what it is I mean," he said, slowly and thoughtfully, "be-
fore I say anything to you — because you thinly about it."
Anything approaching to a compliment was so unusual
an utterance for Arthur, that it brought a flush of pleasure
to her cheek, as she replied "It is you^ that give me the ideas
to think about."
"One's first thought," Arthur proceeded, "in reading of
anything specially vile or barbarous, as done by a fellow-
creature, is apt to be that we see a new depth of Sin re-
vealed beneath us: and we seem to gaze down into that
abyss from some higher ground, far apart from it."
"I think I understand you now. You mean that one
ought to think — not *God, I thank Thee that I am not as
other men are' — but 'God, be merciful to me also, who
might be, but for Thy grace, a sinner as vile as he!' "
"No," said Arthur. "I meant a great deal more than
that."
She looked up quickly, but checked herself, and waited
in silence.
IN A SHADY PLACE 589
"One must begin further back, I think. Think of some
other man, the same age as this poor wretch. Look back
to the time when they both began hfe — before they had
sense enough to know Right from Wrong. Then, at any
rate, they were equal in God's sight?"
She nodded assent.
"We have, then, two distinct epochs at which we may
contemplate the two men whose lives we are comparing.
At the first epoch they are, so far as moral responsibility is
concerned, on precisely the same footing : they are alike in-
capable of doing right or wrong. At the second epoch the
one man — I am taking an extreme case, for contrast — has
won the esteem and love of all around him : his character
is stainless, and his name will be held in honour hereafter:
the other man's history is one unvaried record of crime,
and his life is at last forfeited to the outraged laws of his
country. Now what have been the causes, in each case, of
each man's condition being what it is at the second epoch?
They are of two kinds — one acting from within, the other
from without. These two kinds need to be discussed sepa-
rately— that is, if I have not already tired you with my
prosing?"
"On the contrary," said Lady Muriel, "it is a special de-
light to me to have a question discussed in this way — ana-
lysed and arranged, so that one can understand it. Some
books, that profess to argue out a question, are to me in-
tolerably wearisome, simply because the ideas are all ar-
ranged hap-hazard — a sort of 'first come, first served.' "
"You are very encouraging," Arthur replied, with a
pleased look. "The causes, acting from within, which
make a man's character what it is at any given moment,
are his successive acts of volition — that is, his acts of choos-
ing whether he will do this or that."
590 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"We are to assume the existence of Free-Will ?" I said,
in order to have that point made quite clear.
"I£ not," was the quiet reply, "cadit quaestio: and I have
no more to say."
"We will assume it!" the rest of the audience — the ma-
jority, I may say, looking at it from Arthur's point of view
— imperiously proclaimed. The orator proceeded.
"The causes, acting from without^ are his surroundings
— what Mr. Herbert Spencer calls his 'environment.' Now
the point I want to make clear is this, that a man is re-
sponsible for his acts of choosing, but not responsible for
his environment. Hence, if these two men make, on some
given occasion, when they are exposed to equal tempta-
tion, equal efforts to resist and to choose the right, their
condition, in the sight of God, must be the same. If He is
pleased in the one case, so will He be in the other; if dis-
pleased in the one case, so also in the other."
"That is so, no doubt: I see it quite clearly," Lady Mu-
riel put in.
"And yet, owing to their different environments, the
one may win a great victory over the temptation, while thc-
other falls into some black abyss of crime."
"But surely you would not say those men were equally
guilty in the sight of God?"
"Either that," said Arthur, "or else I must give up my
belief in God's perfect justice. But let me put one more
case, which will show my meaning even more forcibly.
Let the one man be in a high social position — the other,
say, a common thief. Let the one be tempted to some triv-
ial act of unfair dealing — something which he can do with
the absolute certainty that it will never be discovered —
something which he can with perfect ease forbear from
doing — and which he distinctly knows to be a sin. Let the
other be tempted to some terrible crime — as men would
IN A SHADY PLACE . 59I
consider it — but under an almost overwhelming pressure
of motives — of course not quite overwhelming, as that
would destroy all responsibility. Now, in this case, let the
second man make a greater effort at resistance than the
first. Also suppose both to fall under the temptation — I say
that the second man is, in God's sight, less guilty than the
other."
Lady Muriel drew a long breath. "It upsets all one's
ideas of Right and Wrong — just at first! Why, in that
dreadful murder-trial, you would say, I suppose, that it
was possible that the least guilty man in the Court was the
murderer, and that possibly the judge who tried him, by
yielding to the temptation of making one unfair remark,
had committed a crime outweighing the criminal's whole
career!"
"Certainly I should," Arthur firmly replied. "It sounds
like a paradox, I admit. But just think what a grievous sin
it must be, in God's sight, to yield to some very slight
temptation, which we could have resisted with perfect
ease, and to do it deliberately, and in the full light of God's
Law. What penance can atone for a sin like that?''
"I ca'n't reject your theory," I said. "But how it seems
to widen the possible area of Sin in the world!"
"Is that so?" Lady Muriel anxiously enquired.
"Oh, not so, not so!" was the eager reply. "To me it
seems to clear away much of the cloud that hangs over the
world's history. When this view first made itself clear to
me, I remember walking out into the fields, repeating to
myself that line of Tennyson 'There seemed no room for
sense of wrong!' The thought, that perhaps the real guilt
of the human race was infinitely less than I fancied it —
that the millions, whom I had thought of as sunk in hope-
less depths of sin, were perhaps, in God's sight, scarcely
sinning at all — was more sweet than words can tell! Life
592 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
seemed more bright and beautiful, when once that thought
had come! 'A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, A
purer sapphire melts into the seal' " His voice trembled as
he concluded, and the tears stood in his eyes.
Lady Muriel shaded her face with her hand, and was
silent for a minute. *'It is a beautiful thought," she said,
looking up at last. "Thank you — Arthur, for putting it
into my head!"
The Earl returned in time to join us at tea, and to give
us the very unwelcome tidings that a fever had broken out
in the little harbour-town that lay below us — a fever of so
malignant a type that, though it had only appeared a day
or two ago, there were already more than a dozen down
in it, two or three of whom were reported to be in immi-
nent danger.
In answer to the eager questions of Arthur — who of
course took a deep scientific interest in the matter — he
could give very few technical details, though he had met
the local doctor. It appeared, however, that it was an al-
most new disease — at least in this century, though it might
prove to be identical with the "Plague" recorded in His-
tory— very infectious, and frightfully rapid in its action.
"It will not, however, prevent our party to-morrow," he
said in conclusion. "None of the guests belong to the in-
fected district, which is, as you know, exclusively peopled
by fishermen : so you may come without any fear."
Arthur was very silent, all the way back, and, on reach-
ing our lodgings, immediately plunged into medical
studies, connected with the alarming malady of whose ar-
rival we had just heard.
Chapter IX
The Farewell-Party
On the following day, Arthur and I reached the Hall in
good time, as only a few of the guests — it was to be a party
of eighteen — had as yet arrived; and these were talking
with the Earl, leaving us the opportunity of a few words
apart with our hostess.
"Who is that very learned-looking man with the large
spectacles?" Arthur enquired. "I haven't met him here be-
fore, have I?"
"No, he's a new friend of ours," said Lady Muriel: "a
German, I believe. He is such a dear old thing! And quite
the most learned man I ever met — with one exception, of
course!" she added humbly, as Arthur drew himself up
with an air of oflFended dignity.
"And the young lady in blue, just beyond him, talking
to that foreign-looking man. Is she learned, too?"
"I don't know," said Lady Muriel. "But I'm told she's a
wonderful piano-forte-player. I hope you'll hear her to-
night. I asked that foreigner to take her in, because hes
very musical, too. He's a French Count, I believe; and he
sings splendidly!''
"Science — music — singing — you have indeed got a com-
plete party!" said Arthur. "I feel quite a privileged person,
meeting all these stars. I do love music!"
"But the party isn't quite complete!" said Lady Muriel.
"You haven't brought us those two beautiful children,"
she went on, turning to me. "He brought them here to tea,
you know, one day last summer," again addressing Ar-
thur; "and they are such darlings!"
"They are, indeed,'' I assented.
593
594 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"But why haven't you brought them with you? You
promised my father you wouldT
"I'm very sorry," I said; "but really it was impossible to
bring them with me." Here I most certainly meant to con-
clude the sentence: and it was with a feeling of utter
amazement, which I cannot adequately describe, that I
heard myself going on speaking. " — but they are to join
me here in the course of the evening" were the words, ut-
tered in my voice, and seeming to come from my lips.
"I'm so glad!" Lady Muriel joyfully replied. "I shall en-
joy introducing them to some of my friends here! When
do you expect them?"
I took refuge in silence. The only honest reply would
have been "That was not my remark. 7 didn't say it, and
it isn't trueT But I had not the moral courage to make
such a confession. The character of a "lunatic" is not, I
believe, very difficult to acquire: but it is amazingly diffi-
cult to get rid of: and it seemed quite certain that any such
speech as that would quite justify the issue of a writ "de
lunatico inquirendoT
Lady Muriel evidently thought I had failed to hear her
question, and turned to Arthur with a remark on some
other subject; and I had time to recover from my shock of
surprise — or to awake out of my momentary "eerie" con-
dition, whichever it was.
When things around me seemed once more to be real,
Arthur was saying "I'm afraid there's no help for it: they
must be finite in number."
"I should be sorry to have to believe it," said Lady Mu-
riel. "Yet, when one comes to think of it, there are no new ,
melodies, now-a-days. What people talk of as 'the last new
song' always recalls to m,e some tune I've known as a
child!"
"The day must come — if the world lasts long enough — "
THE FAREWELL-PARTY 595
said Arthur, "when every possible tune will have been
composed — every possible pun perpetrated — " (Lady Mu-
riel wrung her hands, like a tragedy-queen) "and, worse
than that, every possible boo\ written! For the number o£
words is finite."
"It'll make very little difference to the authors^' I sug-
gested. "Instead of saying 'what book shall I write?' an
author will ask himself 'which book shall I write?' A
mere verbal distinction!"
Lady Muriel gave me an approving smile. "But lunatics
would always write new books, surely?" she went on.
"They couldn't write the sane books over again!"
"True," said Arthur. "But their books would come to
an end, also. The number of lunatic boo\s is as finite as
the number of lunatics."
"And that number is becoming greater every year," said
a pompous man, whom I recognised as the self-appointed
showman on the day of the picnic.
"So they say," replied Arthur. "And, when ninety per
cent, of us are lunatics," (he seemed to be in a wildly non-
sensical mood) "the asylums will be put to their proper
use.
>j
And that is — ?" the pompous man gravely enquired.
''To shelter the saneT said Arthur. "We shall bar our-
selves in. The lunatics will have it all their own wav, out-
side. They'll do it a little queerly, no doubt. Railway-colli-
sions will be always happening: steamers always blowing
up: most of the towns will be burnt down: most of the
ships sunk — "
"And most of the men kjlledT murmured the pompous
man, who was evidently hopelessly bewildered.
"Certainly," Arthur assented. "Till at last there will be
fewer lunatics than sane men. Then we come out: they go
in: and things return to their normal condition!"
596 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
The pompous man frowned darkly, and bit his Up, and
folded his arms, vainly trying to think it out. "He is jest-
ing!'' he muttered to himself at last, in a tone of withering
contempt, as he stalked away.
By this time the other guests had arrived; and dinner
was announced. Arthur of course took down Lady Mu-
riel : and / was pleased to find myself seated at her other
side, with a severe-looking old lady (whom I had not met
before, and whose name I had, as is usual in introductions,
entirely failed to catch, merely gathering that it sounded
like a compound-name) as my partner for the banquet.
She appeared, however, to be acquainted with Arthur,
and confided to me in a low voice her opinion that he was
"a very argumentative young man." Arthur, for his part,
seemed well inclined to show himself worthy of the char-
acter she had given him, and, hearing her say "I never
take wine with my soup!" (this was not a confidence to
me, but was launched upon Society, as a matter of general
interest), he at once challenged a combat by asking her
''when would you say that property commence in a plate
of soup?"
"This is my soup," she sternly replied: "and what is be-
fore you is yours,''
"No doubt," said Arthur: "but when did I begin to own
it? Up to the moment of its being put into the plate, it
was the property of our host: while being offered round
the table, it was, let us say, held in trust by the waiter : did
it become mine when I accepted it? Or when it was
placed before me? Or when I took the first spoonful?"
"He is a very argumentative young man!" was all the
old lady would say : but she said it audibly, this time, feel-
ing that Society had a right to know it.
Arthur smiled mischievously. "I shouldn't mind betting
you a shilling," he said, "that the Eminent Barrister next
THE FAREWELL-PARTY 597
you" (It certainly is possible to say words so as to make
them begin with capitals!) "ca'n't answer me!"
"I never bet," she sternly replied.
"Not even sixpenny points at whist?''
"NeverT she repeated. ''Whist is innocent enough: but
whist played for money!'' She shuddered.
Arthur became serious again. "Fm afraid I ca'n't take
that view," he said. "I consider that the introduction of
small stakes for card-playing was one of the most moral
acts Society ever did, as Society."
"How was it so?" said Lady Muriel.
"Because it took Cards, once for all, out of the category
of games at which cheating is possible. Look at the way
Croquet is demoralising Society. Ladies are beginning to
cheat at it, terribly: and, if they're found out, they only
laugh, and call it fun. But when there's money at stake,
that is out of the question. The swindler is not accepted as
a wit. When a man sits down to cards, and cheats his
friends out of their money, he doesn't get much fun out of
it — unless he thinks it fun to be kicked down stairs!"
"If all gentlemen thought as badly of ladies as you do,"
my neighbour remarked with some bitterness, "there
would be very few — very few — ." She seemed doubtful
how to end her sentence, but at last took "honeymoons"
as a safe word.
"On the contrary," said Arthur, the mischievous smile
returning to his face, "if only people would adopt my
theory, the number of honeymoons — quite of a new kind
— would be greatly increased!"
"May we hear about this new kind of honeymoon?"
said Lady Muriel.
"Let X be the gentleman," Arthur began, in a slightly
raised voice, as he now found himself with an audience of
six^ including "Mein Herr," who was seated at the other
598 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
side o£ my polynomial partner. "Let X be the gentleman,
and y the lady to whom he thinks of proposing. He ap-
plies for an Experimental Honeymoon. It is granted.
Forthwith the young couple — accompanied by the great-
aunt of Y, to act as chaperone — start for a month's tour,
during which they have many a moonlight-walk, and
many a tete-a-tete conversation, and each can form a more
correct estimate of the other's character, in four wee\s,
than would have been possible in as many years^ when
meeting under the ordinary restrictions of Society. And it
is only after their return that X finally decides whether he
will, or will not, put the momentous question to Y/"
"In nine cases out of ten," the pompous man proclaim-
ed, "he would decide to break it off!"
"Then, in nine cases out of ten," Arthur rejoined, "an
unsuitable match would be prevented, and both parties
saved from misery!"
"The only really unsuitable matches," the old lady re-
marked, "are those made without sufficient Money. Love
may come afterwards. Money is needed to begin withT
This remark was cast loose upon Society, as a sort of
general challenge; and, as such, it was at once accepted by
several of those within hearing: Money became the key-
note of the conversation for some time; and a fitful echo
of it was again heard, when the dessert had been placed
upon the table, the servants had left the room, and the
Earl had started the wine in its welcome progress round
the table.
"I'm very glad to see you keep up the old customs," I
said to Lady Muriel as I filled her glass. "It's really de-
lightful to experience, once more, the peaceful feeling that
comes over one when the waiters have left the room —
when one can converse without the feeling of being over-
THE FAREWELL-PARTY 599
heard, and without having dishes constantly thrust over
one's shoulder. How much more sociable it is to be able to
pour out the wine for the ladies, and to hand the dishes to
those who wish for them!"
"In that case, kindly send those peaches down here,"
said a fat red-faced man, who was seated beyond our pom-
pous friend. "Fve been wishing for them — diagonally —
for some time!"
"Yes, it is a ghastly innovation," Lady Muriel replied,
"letting the waiters carry round the wine at dessert. For
one thing, they always take it the wrong way round —
which of course brings bad luck to everybody present!"
"Better go the wrong way than not go at all!'' said our
host. "Would you kindly help yourself?" (This was to
the fat red-faced man.) "You are not a teetotaler, I think?"
"Indeed but I am!'' he replied, as he pushed on the
bottles. "Nearly twice as much money is spent in England
on Drinf(, as on any other article of food. Read this card."
(What faddist ever goes about without a pocketful of the
appropriate literature?) "The stripes of different colours
represent the amounts spent on various articles of food.
Look at the highest three. Money spent on butter and on
cheese, thirty-five millions : on bread, seventy millions : on
intoxicating liquors, one hundred and thirty-six millions!
If I had my way, I would close every public-house in the
land! Look at that card, and read the motto. That's where
all the money goes to!"
"Have you seen the Anti-Teetotal Card?" Arthur in-
nocently enquired.
"No, Sir, I have not!" the orator savagely replied.
"What is it like?"
"Almost exactly like this one. The coloured stripes are
the same. Only, instead of the words *Money spent on,' it
600 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
has ^Incomes derived from sale of; and, instead of 'That's
where all the money goes to,' its motto is 'That's where
all the money comes from!' "
The red-faced man scowled, but evidently considered
Arthur beneath his notice. So Lady Muriel took up the
cudgels. "Do you hold the theory," she enquired, "that
people can preach teetotalism more effectually by being
teetotalers themselves?"
"Certainly I do!" replied the red-faced man. "Now, here
is a case in point," unfolding a newspaper-cutting: "let
me read you this letter from a teetotaler. To the Editor,
Sir, I was once a moderate drin\er, and \new a man who
dran\ to excess. I went to him. 'Give up this drin\' I said.
'It will ruin your health!' 'You drin\' he said: 'why
shouldn't I?' 'Yes/ I said, 'but I \now when to leave off.'
He turned away from me. 'You drin\ in your way', he
said: 'let me drin\ in mine. Be off!' Then I saw that, to do
any good with him, I must forswear drin\. From that
hour I haven't touched a drop!"
"There! What do you say to that?'' He looked round
triumphantly, while the cutting was handed round for
inspection.
"How very curious!" exclaimed Arthur when it had
reached him. "Did you happen to see a letter, last week,
about early rising? It was strangely like this one."
The red-faced man's curiosity was roused. "Where did
it appear?" he asked.
"Let me read it to you," said Arthur. He took some pa-
pers from his pocket, opened one of them, and read as fol-
lows. To the Editor. Sir, I was once a moderate sleeper,
and \new a man who slept to excess. I pleaded with him.
'Give up this lying in bed', I said, 'It will ruin your health!'
'You go to bed,' he said: 'why shouldn't I?' 'Yes,' I said,
^but I \now when to get up in the morning.' He turned
THE FAREWELL-PARTY 6oi
away from me, 'You sleep in your way, he said: 'let me
sleep in mine. Be o-QY Then 1 saw that to do any good
with him, I must forswear sleep. From that hour I have-
n't been to bed!"
Arthur folded and pocketed his paper, and passed on
the newspaper-cutting. None of us dared to laugh, the
red-faced man was evidently so angry. "Your parallel
doesn't run on all fours!" he snarled.
''Moderate drinkers never do so!" Arthur quietly re-
plied. Even the stern old lady laughed at this.
"But it needs many other things to make a perfect din-
ner!" said Lady Muriel, evidently anxious to change the
subject. "Mein Herr! What is your idea of a perfect din-
ner-party?"
The old man looked around smilingly, and his gigantic
spectacles seemed more gigantic than ever. "A perfect din-
ner-party?" he repeated. "First, it must be presided over
by our present hostess!"
"That of courser she gaily interposed. "But what else^
Mein Herr?"
"I can but tell you what I have seen," said Mein Herr,
"in mine own — in the country I have traveled in."
He paused for a full minute, and gazed steadily at the
ceiling — with so dreamy an expression on his face, that I
feared he was going off into a reverie, which seemed to be
his normal state. However, after a minute, he suddenly be-
gan again.
"That which chiefly causes the failure of a dinner-party,
is the running-short — not of meat, nor yet of drink, but of
conversation,''
"In an English dinner-party," I remarked, "I have never
known small-talk^ run short!"
"Pardon me," Mein Herr respectfully replied, "I did not
say 'small-talk.' I said 'conversation.' All such topics as the
602 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
weather, or politics, or local gossip, are unknown among
us. They are either vapid or controversial. What we need
for conversation is a topic of interest and of novelty. To
secure these things we have tried various plans — Moving-
Pictures, Wild-Creatures, Moving-Guests, and a Revolv-
ing-Humorist. But this last is only adapted to small
parties."
. "Let us have it in four separate Chapters, please!" said
Lady Muriel, who was evidently deeply interested — as, in-
deed, most of the party were, by this time : and, all down
the table, talk had ceased, and heads were leaning for-
wards, eager to catch fragments of Mein Herr's oration.
"Chapter One! Moving-Pictures!" was proclaimed in
the silvery voice of our hostess.
"The dining-table is shaped like a circular ring," Mein
Herr began, in low dreamy tones, which, however, were
perfectly audible in the silence. "The guests are seated at
the inner side as well as the outer, having ascended to
their places by a winding-staircase, from the room below.
Along the middle of the table runs a little railway; and
there is an endless train of trucks, worked round by ma-
chinery; and on each truck there are two pictures, lean-
ing back to back. The train makes two circuits during
dinner; and, when it has been once round, the waiters
turn the pictures round in each truck, making them face
the other way. Thus every guest sees every picture!"
He paused, and the silence seemed deader than ever.
Lady Muriel looked aghast. "Really, if this goes on," she
exclaimed, "I shall have to drop a pin! Oh, it's my fault,
is it?" (In answer to an appealing look from Mein Herr.)
"I was forgetting my duty. Chapter Two! Wild-Crea-
tures!"
"We found the Moving-Pictures a little monotonous,"
THE FAREWELL-PARTY 603
said Mein Herr. "People didn't care to talk Art through a
whole dinner; so we tried Wild-Creatures. Among the
flowers, which we laid (just as you do) about the table,
were to be seen, here a mouse, there a beetle; here a spi-
der," (Lady Muriel shuddered) "there a wasp; here a
toad, there a snake;" ("Father!" said Lady Muriel, plain-
tively. "Did you hear that?'') "so we had plenty to talk
about!"
"And when you got stung — " the old lady began.
"They were all chained-up, dear Madam!"
And the old lady gave a satisfied nod.
There was no silence to follow, this time. "Third Chap-
ter!" Lady Muriel proclaimed at once, "Moving-Guests!"
"Even the Wild-Creatures proved monotonous," the
orator proceeded. "So we left the guests to choose their
own subjects; and, to avoid monotony, we changed them.
We made the table of two rings ; and the inner ring mov-
ed slowly round, all the time, along with the floor in the
middle and the inner row of guests. Thus every inner
guest was brought face-to-face with every outer guest. It
was a little confusing, sometimes, to have to begin a story
to one friend and finish it to another; but every plan has
its faults, you know."
"Fourth Chapter!" Lady Muriel hastened to announce.
"The Revolving-Humorist!"
"For a small party we found it an excellent plan to have
a round table, with a hole cut in the middle large enough
to hold one guest. Here we placed our best talker. He re-
volved slowly, facing every other guest in turn: and he
told lively anecdotes the whole time!"
"I shouldn't like it!" murmured the pompous man. "It
would make me giddy, revolving like that! I should de-
cline to — " here it appeared to dawn upon him that per-
604 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
haps the assumption he was making was not warranted
by the circumstances: he took a hasty gulp of wine, and
choked himself.
But Mein Herr had relapsed into reverie, and made no
further remark. Lady Muriel gave the signal, and the
ladies left the room.
Chapter X
Jabbering and Jam
When the last lady had disappeared, and the Earl, tak-
ing his place at the head of the table, had issued the mili-
tary order "Gentlemen! Close up the ranks, if you
please!", and when, in obedience to his command, we had
gathered ourselves compactly round him, the pompous
man gave a deep sigh of relief, filled his glass to the brim,
pushed on the wine, and began one of his favorite ora-
tions. "They are charming, no doubt! Charming, but very
frivolous. They drag us down, so to speak, to a lower
level. They — "
"Do not all pronouns require antecedent nouns?''' the
Earl gently enquired.
"Pardon me," said the pompous man, with lofty con-
descension. "I had overlooked the noun. The ladies. We
regret their absence. Yet we console ourselves. Thought
is free. With them, we are limited to trivial topics — Art,
Literature, Politics, and so forth. One can bear to discuss
such paltry matters with a lady. But no man, in his senses
— " (he looked sternly round the table, as if defying con-
tradiction) " — ever yet discussed WINE with a lady!"
He sipped his glass of port, leaned back in his chair, and
JABBERING AND JAM 605
slowly raised it up to his eye, so as to look through it at the
lamp. "The vintage, my Lord?" he enquired, glancing at
his host.
The Earl named the date.
"So I had supposed. But one likes to be certain. The
tint is, perhaps, slightly pale. But the body is unquestion-
able. And as for the bouquet — "
Ah, that magic Bouquet! How vividly that single word
recalled the scene! The little beggar-boy turning his somer-
sault in the road — the sweet little crippled maiden in my
arms — the mysterious evanescent nursemaid — all rushed
tumultuously into my mind, like the creatures of a dream :
and through this mental haze there still boomed on, like
the tolling of a bell, the solemn voice of the great con-
noisseur of WINE!
Even his utterances had taken on themselves a strange
and dream-like form. "No," he resumed — and why is it,
I pause to ask, that, in taking up the broken thread of a
dialogue, one always begins with this cheerless monosyl-
lable? After much anxious thought, I have come to the
conclusion that the object in view is the same as that of
the schoolboy, when the sum he is working has got into a
hopeless muddle, and when in despair he takes the sponge,
washes it all out, and begins again. Just in the same way
the bewildered orator, by the simple process of denying
everything that has been hitherto asserted, makes a clean
sweep of the whole discussion, and can "start fair" with
a fresh theory. "No," he resumed: "there's nothing like
cherry-jam, after all. That's what / say!"
"Not for all qualities!" an eager little man shrilly inter-
posed. "For richness of general tone I don't say that it has
a rival. But for delicacy of modulation — for what one may
call the 'harmonics' of flavour — give me good old rasp-
^drry-jam!"
6o6 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"Allow me one word!" The fat red-faced man, quite
hoarse with excitement, broke into the dialogue. "It's too
important a question to be settled by Amateurs! I can give
you the views of a Professional — perhaps the most ex-
perienced jam-taster now living. Why, I've known him fix
the age of strawberry-jam, to a day — and we all know
what a difficult jam it is to give a date to — on a single
tasting! Well, I put to him the very question you are dis-
cussing. His words were VA(?rry-jam is best, for mere
chiaroscuro of flavour: raspberry-]2in\ lends itself best to
those resolved discords that linger so lovingly on the
tongue : but, for rapturous utterness of saccharine perfec-
tion, it's apricot-jam first and the rest nowhereV That
was well put, wasnt \X.V
"Consummately put!" shrieked the eager little man.
"I know your friend well," said the pompous man. "As
a jam-taster, he has no rival! Yet I scarcely think — "
But here the discussion became general : and his words
were lost in a confused medley of names, every guest
sounding the praises of his own favorite jam. At length,
through the din, our host's voice made itself heard. "Let
us join the ladies!" These words seemed to recall me to
waking life; and I felt sure that, for the last few minutes,
I had relapsed into the "eerie" state.
"A strange dream!" I said to myself as we trooped up-
stairs. "Grown men discussing, as seriously as if they were
matters of life and death, the hopelessly trivial details of
mere delicacies^ that appeal to no higher human function
than the nerves of the tongue and palate! What a humil-
iating spectacle such a discussion would be in waking
life!"
When, on our way to the drawing-room, I received
from the housekeeper my little friends, clad in the dainti-
est of evening costumes, and looking, in the flush of ex-
JABBERING AND JAM 607
pectant delight, more radiantly beautiful than I had ever
seen them before, I felt no shock of surprise, but accepted
the fact with the same unreasoning apathy with which
one meets the events of a dream, and was merely con-
scious of a vague anxiety as to how they would acquit
themselves in so novel a scene — forgetting that Court-life
in Outland was as good training as they could need for
Society in the more substantial world.
It would be best, I thought, to introduce them as soon
as possible to some good-natured lady-guest, and I selected
the young lady whose piano-forte-playing had been so
much talked of. "I am sure you like children," I said.
"May I introduce two little friends of mine? This is Syl-
vie — and this is Bruno."
The young lady kissed Sylvie very graciously. She
would have done the same for Bruno, but he hastily drew
back out of reach. "Their faces are new to me," she said.
"Where do you come from, my dear?"
I had not anticipated so inconvenient a question; and,
fearing that it might embarrass Sylvie, I answered for her.
"They come from some distance. They are only here just
for this one evening."
"How far have you come, dear?" the young lady per-
sisted.
Sylvie looked puzzled. "A mile or two, I thin\j' she
said doubtfully.
'A mile or three,'' said Bruno.
'You shouldn't say 'a mile or three,' " Sylvie corrected
him.
The young lady nodded approval. "Sylvie's quite right.
It isn't usual to say *a mile or three' "
"It would be usual — if we said it often enough," said
Bruno.
It was the young lady's turn to look puzzled now. "He's
u
u^
6o8 ^ SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
very quick, for his age!" she murmured. "You're not more
than seven, are you, dear?" she added aloud.
"I'm not so many as that^'' said Bruno. "I'm one, Sylvie's
one, Sylvie and me is two, Sylvie taught me to count."
"Oh, I wasn't counting you, you know!" the young
lady laughingly replied.
"Hasn't oo learnt to count?" said Bruno.
The young lady bit her lip. "Dear! What embarrassing
questions he does ask!" she said in a half-audible "aside."
"Bruno, you shouldn't!" Sylvie said reprovingly.
"Shouldn't what?'' said Bruno.
"You shouldn't ask — that sort of questions."
''What sort of questions?" Bruno mischievously per-
sisted.
"What she told you not," Sylvie replied, with a shy
glance at the young lady, and losing all sense of grammar
in her confusion.
"Oo ca'n't pronounce it!" Bruno triumphantly cried.
And he turned to the young lady, for sympathy in his vic-
tory. "I \newed she couldn't pronounce 'umbrella-sting'!"
The young lady thought it best to return to the arith-
metical problem. "When I asked if you were seven, you
know, I didn't mean *how many children?' I meant 'how
many years — ' "
"Only got two ears," said Bruno. "Nobody's got seven
ears."
"And you belong to this little girl?" the young lady con-
tinued, skilfully evading the anatomical problem.
"No, I doosn't belong to her!" said Bruno. "Sylvie be-
longs to me!" And he clasped his arms round her as he
added "She are my very mine!"
"And, do you know," said the young lady, "I've a little
sister at home, exactly like your sister? I'm sure they'd
love each other."
JABBERING AND JAM 609
"They'd be very extremely useful to each other," Bruno
said, thoughtfully. "And they wouldn't want no looking-
glasses to brush their hair wiz."
"Why not, my child?"
"Why, each one would do for the other one's looking-
glass a-course!" cried Bruno.
But here Lady Muriel, who had been standing by, lis-
tening to this bewildering dialogue, interrupted it to ask if
the young lady would favour us with some music; and the
children followed their new friend to the piano.
Arthur came and sat down by me. "If rumour speaks
truly," he whispered, "we are to have a real treat!" And
then, amid a breathless silence, the performance began.
She was one of those players whom Society talks of as
"brilliant," and she dashed into the loveliest of Havdn's
Symphonies in a style that was clearly the outcome of
years of patient study under the best masters. At first it
seemed to be the perfection of piano-forte-playing; but in
a few minutes I began to ask myself, wearily, ''What is it
that is wanting? Why does one get no pleasure from it?"
Then I set myself to listen intently to every note; and
the mystery explained itself. There was an almost-perfect
mechanical correctness — and there was nothing else! False
notes, of course, did not occur : she knew the piece too well
for that; but there was just enough irregularity of time to
betray that the player had no real "ear" for music — just
enough inarticulateness in the more elaborate passages to
show that she did not think her audience worth taking
real pains for — just enough mechanical monotony of ac-
cent to take all soul out of the heavenly modulations she
was profaning — in short, it was simply irritating; and,
when she had rattled off the finale and had struck the final
chord as if, the instrument being now done with, it didn't
matter how many wires she broke, I could not even wQect
6lO SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
to join in the stereotyped "Oh, than\ you!" which was
chorused around me.
Lady Muriel joined us for a moment. "Isn't it beauti-
Jul?'' she whispered, to Arthur, with a mischievous smile.
"No it isn't!" said Arthur. But the gentle sweetness of
his face quite neutralised the apparent rudeness of the
reply.
"Such execution, you know!" she persisted.
"That's what she deserves'/ Arthur doggedly replied:
"but people are so prejudiced against capital — "
"Now you're beginning to talk nonsense!" Lady Muriel
cried. "But you do like Music, don't you? You said so
just now."
"Do I like Music?'' the Doctor repeated softly to him-
self. "My dear Lady Muriel, there is Music and Music.
Your question is painfully vague. You might as well ask
'Do you like People?' "
Lady Muriel bit her lip, frowned, and stamped with one
tiny foot. As a dramatic representation of ill-temper, it
was distinctly not a success. However, it took in one of
her audience, and Bruno hastened to interpose, as peace-
maker in a rising quarrel, with the remark "/ likes
Peoples!"
Arthur laid a loving hand on the little curly head.
"What? All Peoples?" he enquired.
"Not all Peoples," Bruno explained. "Only but Sylvie —
and Lady Muriel — and him — " (pointing to the Earl)
"and oo — and oo!"
"You shouldn't point at people," said Sylvie. "It's very
rude."
"In Bruno's World," I said, "there are only jour People
— worth mentioning!"
"In Bruno's World!" Lady Muriel repeated thought-
fully. "A bright and flowery world. Where the grass is al-
JABBERING AND JAM 6ll
ways green, where the breezes always blow softly, and the
rain-clouds never gather; where there are no wild beasts,
and no deserts — "
"There must be deserts," Arthur decisively remarked.
"At least if it was my ideal world."
"But what possible use is there in a desert?'' said Lady
Muriel. ''Surely you would have no wilderness in your
ideal world?"
Arthur smiled. "But indeed I wouldT he said. "A wil-
derness would be more necessary than a railway; and far
more conducive to general happiness than church-bells!"
"But what would you use it for?"
"To practise music in^' he replied. "All the young ladies,
that have no ear for music, but insist on learning it, should
be conveyed, every morning, two or three miles into the
wilderness. There each would find a comfortable room
provided for her, and also a cheap second-hand piano-
forte, on which she might play for hours, without adding
one needless pang to the sum of human misery!"
Lady Muriel glanced round in alarm, lest these bar-
barous sentiments should be overheard. But the fair mu-
sician was at a safe distance. "At any rate you must allow
that she's a sweet girl?" she resumed.
"Oh, certainly. As sweet as eau sucree^ if you choose —
and nearly as interesting!"
"You are incorrigible!" said Lady Muriel, and turned to
me. "I hope you found Mrs. Mills an interesting compan-
ion r
"Oh, that's her name, is it?" I said. "I fancied there was
more of it."
"So there is: and it will be 'at your proper peril' (what-
ever that may mean) if you ever presume to address her
as 'Mrs. Mills.' She is 'Mrs. Ernest— Atkinson— Mills'!"
"She is one of those would-be grandees," said Arthur,
6l2 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"who think that, by tacking on to their surname all their
spare Christian-names, with hyphens between, they can
give it an aristocratic flavour. As if it wasn't trouble
enough to remember one surname!"
By this time the room was getting crowded, as the
guests, invited for the evening-party, were beginning to
arrive, and Lady Muriel had to devote herself to the task
of welcoming them, which she did with the sweetest grace
imaginable. Sylvie and Bruno stood by her, deeply inter-
ested in the process.
"I hope you like my friends?" she said to them. "Spe-
cially my dear old friend, Mein Herr (What's become of
him, I wonder? Oh, there he is!), that old gentleman in
spectacles, with a long beard?"
"He's a grand old gentleman!" Sylvie said, gazing ad-
miringly at "Mein Herr," who had settled down in a cor-
ner, from which his mild eyes beamed on us through a
gigantic pair of spectacles. "And what a lovely beard!" ^
"What does he call his-self ?" Bruno whispered.
"He calls himself 'Mein Herr,' " Sylvie whispered in 1
reply.
Bruno shook his head impatiently. "That's what he calls
his hair^ not his selj^ oo silly!" He appealed to me. "What
doos he call his selj^ Mister Sir?"
"That's the only name / know of," I said. "But he looks
very lonely. Don't you pity his grey hairs?"
"I pities his selj^'' said Bruno, still harping on the mis-
nomer; "but I doosn't pity his hair, one bit. His hair ca'n't
feel!"
"We met him this afternoon," said Sylvie. "We'd been
to see Nero, and we'd had such fun with him, making
him invisible again! And we saw that nice old gentleman
as we came back."
THE MAN IN THE MOON 613
"Well, let's go and talk to him, and cheer him up a
little," I said: "and perhaps we shall find out what he calls
himself."
Chapter XI
The Man in the Moon
The children came willingly. With one of them on each
side of me, I approached the corner occupied by "Mein
Herr." "You don't object to children^ I hope?" I began.
^'Crabbed age and youth cannot live together!'' the old
man cheerfully replied, with a most genial smile. "Now
take a good look at me, my children! You would guess me
to be an old man, wouldn't you?"
At first sight, though his face had reminded me so mys-
teriously of "the Professor," he had seemed to be decidedly
a younger man: but, when I came to look into the won-
derful depth of those large dreamy eyes, I felt, with a
strange sense of awe, that he was incalculably older: he
seemed to gaze at us out of some by-gone age, centuries
away.
"I don't know if oo're an old man," Bruno answered, as
the children, won over by the gentle voice, crept a little
closer to him. "I thinks oo're eighty-threeT
"He is very exact!" said Mein Herr.
"Is he anything like right?" I said.
"There are reasons," Mein Herr gently replied, "reasons
which I am not at liberty to explain, for not mentioning
definitely any Persons, Places, or Dates. One remark only
I will permit myself to make — that the period of life, be-
tween the ages of a hundred-and-sixty-five and a hundred-
and-seventy-five, is a specially safe one."
6l4 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"How do you make that out?" I said.
"Thus. You would consider swimming to be a very safe
amusement, if you scarcely ever heard of any one dying
of it. Am I not right in thinking that you never heard of
any one dying between those two ages?"
"I see what you mean," I said: "but I'm afraid you ca'n't
prove swimming to be safe, on the same principle. It is no
uncommon thing to hear of some one being drowned."
"In my country," said Mein Herr, "no one is ever
drowned."
"Is there no water deep enough?"
"Plenty! But we ca'n't sin\. We are all lighter than wa-
ter. Let me explain," he added, seeing my look of surprise.
"Suppose you desire a race of pigeons of a particular shape
or colour, do you not select, from year to year, those that
are nearest to the shape or colour you want, and keep
those, and part with the others?"
"We do," I replied. "We call it 'Artificial Selection.' "
"Exactly so," said Mein Herr. "Well, we have practised
that for some centuries — constantly selecting the lightest
people : so that, now, everybody is lighter than water."
"Then you never can be drowned at sea?''
"Never! It is only on the land — for instance, when at-
tending a play in a theatre — that we are in such a danger.
"How can that happen at a theatre?"
"Our theatres are all underground. Large tanks of wa-
ter are placed above. If a fire breaks out, the taps are turn-
ed, and in one minute the theatre is flooded, up to the very
roof! Thus the fire is extinguished."
''And the audience, I presume?"
"That is a minor matter," Mein Herr carelessly replied.
"But they have the comfort of knowing that, whether
drowned or not, they are all lighter than water. We have
not yet reached the standard of making people lighter
THE MAN IN THE MOON 615
than air: but we are aiming at it; and, in another thou-
sand years or so — "
"What doos 00 do wiz the peoples that's too heavy?"
Bruno solemnly enquired.
"We have applied the same process," Mein Herr con-
tinued, not noticing Bruno's question, "to many other
purposes. We have gone on selecting walhing'Stic\s — al-
ways keeping those that walked best — till we have obtain-
ed some, that can walk by themselves! We have gone on
selecting cotton-wool, till we have got some lighter than
air! You've no idea what a useful material it is! We call it
*Imponderal.' "
"What do you use it for?"
"Well, chiefly for packing articles, to go by Parcel-Post.
It makes them weigh less than nothings you know."
"And how do the Post-Office people know what you
have to pay?"
"That's the beauty of the new system!" Mein Herr cried
exultingly. "They pay us: we don't pay them! I've often
got as much as five shillings for sending a parcel."
"But doesn't your Government object?"
"Well, they do object a little. They say it comes so ex-
pensive, in the long run. But the thing's as clear as day-
light, by their own rules. If I send a parcel, that weighs a
pound more than nothing, I pay three-pence: so, of course,
if it weighs a pound less than nothing, I ought to receive
three-pence."
"It is indeed a useful article!" I said.
"Yet even 'Imponderal' has its disadvantages," he re-
sumed. "I bought some, a few days ago, and put it into my
hat, to carry it home, and the hat simply floated away!"
"Had 00 some of that funny stuff in oor hat today?'''
Bruno enquired. "Sylvie and me saw 00 in the road, and
oor hat were ever so high up! Weren't it, Sylvie?"
6t6 sylvie and bruno concluded
"No, that was quite another thing," said Mein Herr.
"There was a drop or two of rain falUng: so I put my hat
on the top of my stick — as an umbrella, you know. As I
came along the road," he continued, turning to me, "I
was overtaken by — "
" — a shower of rain?" said Bruno.
"Well, it looked more like the tail of a dog," Mein Herr
replied. "It was the most curious thing! Something rub-
bed affectionately against my knee. And I looked down.
And I could see nothing! Only, about a yard off, there
was a dog's tail, wagging, all by itself!"
"Oh, Sylvie!" Bruno murmured reproachfully. "Oo
didn't finish making him visible!"
"I'm so sorry!" Sylvie said, looking very penitent. "I
meant to rub it along his back, but we were in such a
hurry. We'll go and finish him tomorrow. Poor thing!
Perhaps he'll get no supper tonight!"
''Course he won't!" said Bruno. "Nobody never gives
bones to a dog's tail!"
Mein Herr looked from one to the other in blank as-
tonishment. "I do not understand you," he said. "I had
lost my way, and I was consulting a pocket-map, and
somehow I had dropped one of my gloves, and this in-
visible Something, that had rubbed against my knee, ac-
tually brought it back to me!"
"Course he did!" said Bruno. "He's welly fond of fetch-
ing things."
Mein Herr looked so thoroughly bewildered that I
thought it best to change the subject. "What a useful thing
a pocket-map is!" I remarked.
"That's another thing we've learned from your Nation,'*
said Mein Herr, "map-making. But we've carried it much
further than you. What do you consider the largest map
that would be really useful?"
THE MAN IN THE MOON 617
"About six inches to the mile."
"Only six inches!'' exclaimed Mein Herr. "We very
soon got to six yards to the mile. Then we tried a hundred
yards to the mile. And then came the grandest idea of all!
We actually made a map of the country, on the scale of
a mile to the mile!"
"Have you used it much?" I enquired.
"It has never been spread out, yet," said Mein Herr:
"the farmers objected: they said it would cover the whole
country, and shut out the sunlight! So we now use the
country itself, as its own map, and I assure you it does
nearly as well. Now let me ask you another question.
What is the smallest world you would care to inhabit?"
"/ know!" cried Bruno, who was listening intently. "I'd
like a little teeny-tiny world, just big enough for Sylvie
and me!"
"Then you would have to stand on opposite sides of it,"
said Mein Herr. "And so you would never see your sister
at all!''
"And I'd have no lessons^" said Bruno.
"You don't mean to say you've been trying experiments
in that direction!" I said.
"Well, not experiments exactly. We do not profess to
construct planets. But a scientific friend of mine, who has
made several balloon-voyages, assures me he has visited a
planet so small that he could walk right round it in twenty
minutes! There had been a great battle, just before his
visit, which had ended rather oddly : the vanquished army
ran away at full speed, and in a very few minutes found
themselves face-to-face with the victorious army, who
were marching home again, and who were so frightened
at finding themselves between two armies, that they sur-
rendered at once! Of course that lost them the battle.
6l8 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
though, as a matter o£ fact, they had killed all the soldiers
on the other side."
"Killed soldiers cant run away," Bruno thoughtfully
remarked.
" 'Killed' is a technical word," replied Mein Herr. *'In
the little planet I speak of, the bullets were made of soft
black stuff, which marked everything it touched. So, after
a battle, all you had to do was to count how many soldiers
on each side were 'killed' — that means 'marked on the
bac\^ for marks in jront didn't count."
"Then you couldn't 'kill' any, unless they ran away?" I
said.
"My scientific friend found out a better plan than that.
He pointed out that, if only the bullets were sent the other
way round the world, they would hit the enemy in the
bac\. After that, the worst marksmen were considered
the best soldiers; and the very worst of all always got First
rize.
"And how did you decide which was the very worst of
all?'''
"Easily. The best possible shooting is, you know, to hit
what is exactly in jront of you: so of course the worst pos-
sible is to hit what is exactly behind you."
"They were strange people in that little planet!" I said.
"They were indeed! Perhaps their method of govern-
ment was the strangest of all. In this planet, I am told, a
Nation consists of a number of Subjects, and one King:
but, in the little planet I speak of, it consisted of a number
of KingSy and one Subject!''
"You say you are 'told' what happens in this planet," I
said. "May I venture to guess that you yourself are a
visitor from some other planet?"
Bruno clapped his hands in his excitement. "Is oo the
Man-in-the-Moon?" he cried.
THE MAN IN THE MOON 619
Mein Herr looked uneasy. "I am not in the Moon, my
child," he said evasively. "To return to w^hat I was say-
ing. I think that method of government ought to answer
well. You see, the Kings would be sure to make Laws
contradicting each other: so the Subject could never be
punished, because, whatever he did he'd be obeying some
Law."
"And, whatever he did, he'd be ^/Vobeying some Law!"
cried Bruno. "So he'd always be punished!"
Lady Muriel was passing at the moment, and caught
the last word. "Nobody's going to be punished hereT she
said, taking Bruno in her arms. "This is Liberty-Hall!
Would you lend me the children for a minute?"
"The children desert us, you see," I said to Mein Herr,
as she carried them off: "so we old folk must keep each
other company!"
The old man sighed. "Ah, well! We're old folk now;
and yet I was a child myself, once — at least I fancy so."
It did seem a rather unlikely fancy, I could not help
owning to myself — looking at the shaggy white hair, and
the long beard — that he could ever have been a child.
"You are fond of young people?" I said.
"Young vfien^' he replied. "Not of children exactly. I
used to teach young men — many a year ago — in my dear
old University!"
"I didn't quite catch its name?'' I hinted.
"I did not name it," the old man replied mildly. "Nor
would you know the name if I did. Strange tales I could
tell you of all the changes I have witnessed there! But it
would weary you, I fear."
"No, indeed!'' I said. "Pray go on. What kind of
changes?"
But the old man seemed to be more in a humour for
questions than for answers. "Tell me," he said, laying his
620 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
hand impressively on my arm, "tell me something. For
I am a stranger in your land, and I know little of your
modes of education: yet something tells me we are fur-
ther on than you in the eternal cycle of change — and
that many a theory we have tried and found to fail, you
also will try, with a wilder enthusiasm : you also will find
to fail, with a bitterer despair!"
It was strange to see how, as he talked, and his words
flowed more and more freely, with a certain rhythmic
eloquence, his features seemed to glow with an inner
light, and the whole man seemed to be transformed, as
if he had grown fifty years younger in a moment of time.
Chapter XII
Fairy-Music
The silence that ensued was broken by the voice of the
musical young lady, who had seated herself near us, and
was conversing with one of the newly-arrived guests.
"Well!" she said in a tone of scornful surprise. "We are
to have something new in the way of music, it appears!"
I looked round for an explanation, and was nearly as
much astonished as the speaker herself: it was Syhie
whom Lady Muriel was leading to the piano!
"Do try it, my darling!" she was saying. "Fm sure you
can play very nicely!"
Sylvie looked round at me, with tears in her eyes. I
tried to give her an encouraging smile, but it was evi-
dently a great strain on the nerves of a child so wholly
unused to be made an exhibition of, and she was fright-
ened and unhappy. Yet here came out the perfect sweet-
FAIRY-MUSIC 621
ness of her disposition: I could see that she was resolved
to forget herself, and do her best to give pleasure to Lady
Muriel and her friends. She seated herself at the instru-
ment, and began instantly. Time and expression, so far
as one could judge, w^ere perfect: but her touch was one
of such extraordinary lightness that it was at first scarce-
ly possible, through the hum of conversation which still
continued, to catch a note of what she was playing.
But in a minute the hum had died away into absolute
silence, and we all sat, entranced and breathless, to listen
to such heavenly music as none then present could ever
forget.
Hardly touching the notes at first, she played a sort of
introduction in a minor key — like an embodied twilight;
one felt as though the lights were growing dim, and a
mist were creeping through the room. Then there flashed
through the gathering gloom the first few notes of a
melody so lovely, so delicate, that one held one's breath,
fearful to lose a single note of it. Ever and again the
music dropped into the pathetic minor key with which
it had begun, and, each time that the melody forced its
way, so to speak, through the enshrouding gloom into
the light of day, it was more entrancing, more magically
sweet. Under the airy touch of the child, the instrument
actually seemed to warble^ like a bird. "Rise up, my love,
my fair one'' it seemed to sing, ''and come away! For lo,
\the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers
appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is
comeT One could fancy one heard the tinkle of the last
few drops, shaken from the trees by a passing gust — that
one saw the first glittering rays of the sun, breaking
through the clouds.
The Count hurried across the room in great excite-
ment. "I cannot remember myself," he exclaimed, "of
622 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
the name of this so charming an air! It is of an opera^
most surely. Yet not even will the opera remind his name
to me! What you call him, dear child?"
Sylvie looked round at him with a rapt expression of
face. She had ceased playing, but her fingers still wan-
dered fitfully over the keys. All fear and shyness had
quite passed away now, and nothing remained but the
pure joy of the music that had thrilled our hearts.
"The title of it!" the Count repeated impatiently. "How
call you the opera .f^"
"I don't know what an opera /V," Sylvie half-whispered.
"How, then, call you the air?''
"I don't know any name for it/' Sylvie replied, as she
rose from the instrument.
"But this is marvellous!" exclaimed the Count, follow-
ing the child, and addressing himself to me, as if I were
the proprietor of this musical prodigy, and so must know
the origin of her music. "You have heard her play this,
sooner — I would say 'before this occasion' ? How call you
the air?"
I shook my head; but was saved from more questions
by Lady Muriel, who came up to petition the Count for
a song.
The Count spread out his hands apologetically, and
ducked his head. "But, Milady, I have already respected
— I would say prospected — all your songs ; and there shall
be none fitted to my voice! They are not for basso voices!"
"Wo'n't you look at them again?" Lady Muriel im-
plored.
"Let's help him!" Bruno whispered to Sylvie. "Let's
get him — you know!"
Sylvie nodded. "Shall we look for a song for you?"
she said sweetly to the Count.
"Mais ouir the little man exclaimed.
(('
((-
FAIRY-MUSIC 623
"Of course we may!" said Bruno, while, each taking
a hand of the deUghted Count, they led him to the music-
stand.
"There is still hope!" said Lady Muriel over her shoul-
der, as she followed them.
I turned to "Mein Herr," hoping to resume our inter-
rupted conversation. "You were remarking — " I began:
but at this moment Sylvie came to call Bruno, who had
returned to my side, looking unusually serious. "Do come,
Bruno!" she entreated. "You know we've nearly found
it!" Then, in a whisper, "The locket's in my hand^ now.
I couldn't get it out while they were looking!"
But Bruno drew back. "The man called me names,"
he said with dignity.
What names?" I enquired with some curiosity.
\ asked him," said Bruno, "which sort of song he liked.
And he said 'A song o£ a man, not of a lady.' And I said
'Shall Sylvie and me find you the song of Mister Tottles?'
And he said 'Wait, eel!' And I'm not an eel, 00 know!"
"I'm sure he didn't mean it!" Sylvie said earnestly.
"It's something French — you know he ca'n't talk English
so well as — "
Bruno relented visibly. "Course he knows no better, if
he's Flench! Flenchmen never can speak English so
goodly as usT And Sylvie led him away, a willing cap-
tive.
"Nice children!" said the old man, taking off his spec-
tacles and rubbing them carefully. Then he put them on
again, and watched with an approving smile, while the
children tossed over the heap of music, and we just
caught Sylvie's reproving words, "We're not making hay,.
Bruno!"
"This has been a long interruption to our conversa-
tion," I said. "Pray let us go on!"
624 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"Willingly!" replied the gentle old man. "I was much
interested in what you — " He paused a moment, and
passed his hand uneasily across his brow. "One forgets,"
he murmured. "What was I saying? Oh! Something you
were to tell me. Yes. Which of your teachers do you value
the most highly, those whose words are easily under-
stood, or those who puzzle you at every turn?"
I felt obliged to admit that we generally admired most
the teachers we couldn't quite understand.
"Just so," said Mein Herr. "That's the way it begins.
Well, we were at that stage some eighty years ago — or
was it ninety? Our favourite teacher got more obscure
every year; and every year we admired him more — just
as your Art-fanciers call mist the fairest feature in a land-
scape, and admire a view with frantic delight when they
can see nothing! Now I'll tell you how it ended. It was
Moral Philosophy that our idol lectured on. Well, his
pupils couldn't make head or tail of it, but they got it all
by heart; and, when Examination-time came, they wrote
it down; and the Examiners said 'Beautiful! What
depth!'"
"But what good was it to the young men. afterwards?'"
"Why, don't you see?" replied Mein Herr. ''They be-
came teachers in their turn, and they said all these things
over again; and their pupils wrote it all down; and the
Examiners accepted it; and nobody had the ghost of an\
idea what it all meant!"
"And how did it end?"
"It ended this way. We woke up one fine day, and
found there was no one in the place that knew anything
about Moral Philosophy. So we abolished it, teachers,
classes, examiners, and all. And if any one wanted to
learn anything about it, he had to make it out for him-
self; and after another twenty years or so there were sev-
FAIRY-MUSIC 625
eral men that really knew something about it! Now tell
me another thing. How long do you teach a youth be-
fore you examine him, in your Universities?"
I told him, three or four years.
"Just so, just what we did!" he exclaimed. "We taught
'em a bit, and, just as they were beginning to take it in,
we took it all out again! We pumped our wells dry be-
fore they were a quarter full — we stripped our orchards
while the apples were still in blossom — we applied the
severe logic of arithmetic to our chickens, while peace-
fully slumbering in their shells! Doubtless it's the early
bird that picks up the worm — but if the bird gets up so
outrageously early that the worm is still deep under-
ground, what then is its chance of a breakfast?"
Not much, I admitted.
"Now see how that works!" he went on eagerly. "If
you want to pump your wells so soon — and I suppose you
tell me that is what you must do?"
"We must," I said. "In an over-crowded country like
this, nothing but Competitive Examinations — "
Mein Herr threw up his hands wildly. "What, again?'^
he cried. "I thought it was dead, fifty years ago! Oh this
Upas tree of Competitive Examinations! Beneath whose
deadly shade all the original genius, all the exhaustive
research, all the untiring life-long diligence by which our
fore-fathers have so advanced human knowledge, must
slowly but surely wither away, and give place to a sys-
tem of Cookery, in which the human mind is a sausage,
and all we ask is, how much indigestible stuff can be
crammed into it!"
Always, after these bursts of eloquence, he seemed to
forget himself for a moment, and only to hold on to the
thread of thought by some single word. "Yes, crammed^''
he repeated. "We went through all that stage of the dis-
626 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
ease — had it bad, I warrant you! Of course, as the Exam-
ination was all in all, we tried to put in just what was
wanted — and the great thing to aim at was, that the
Candidate should know absolutely nothing beyond the
needs of the Examination! I don't say it was ever quite
achieved: but one of my own pupils (pardon an old
man's egotism) came very near it. After the Examination,
he mentioned to me the few facts which he knew but had
not been able to bring in, and I can assure you they Were
trivial. Sir, absolutely trivial!"
I feebly expressed my surprise and delight.
The old man bowed, with a gratified smile, and pro-
ceeded. "At that time, no one had hit on the much more
rational plan of watching for the individual scintillations
of genius, and rewarding them as they occurred. As it
was, we made our unfortunate pupil into a Ley den-jar,
charged him up to the eyelids — then applied the knob of
a Competitive Examination, and drew oflf one magnifi-
cent spark, which very often cracked the jar! What mat-
tered that? We labeled it Tirst Class Spark,' and put it
away on the shelf."
"But the more rational system — ?" I suggested.
"Ah, yes! that came next. Instead of giving the whole
reward of learning in one lump, we used to pay for ever y
good answer as it occurred. How well I remember lec-
turing in those days, with a heap of small coins at my
elbow! It was *A very good answer, Mr. Jones!' (that
meant a shilling, mostly). 'Bravo, Mr. Robinson!' (that
meant half -a-cr own). Now I'll tell you how that worked.
Not one single fact would any of them take in, v/ithout
a fee! And when a clever boy came up from school, he
got paid more for learning than we got paid for teach-
ing him! Then came the wildest craze of all."
"What, another craze?" I said.
FAIRY-MUSIC 627
"It's the last one," said the old man. "I must have tired
you out with my long story. Each College wanted to get
the clever boys: so we adopted a system which we had
heard was very popular in England: the Colleges com-
peted against each other, and the boys let themselves out
to the highest bidder! What geese we were! Why, they
were bound to come to the University somehow. We
needn't have paid 'em! And all our money went in get-
ting clever boys to come to one College rather than an-
other! The competition was so keen, that at last mere
money-payments were not enough. Any College, that
wished to secure some specially clever young man, had
to waylay him at the Station, and hunt him through the
streets. The first who touched him was allowed to have
him."
"That hunting-down of the scholars, as they arrived,
must have been a curious business," I said. "Could you
give me some idea of what it was like?"
"Willingly!" said the old man. "I will describe to you
the very last Hunt that took plaK:e, before that form of
Sport (for it was actually reckoned among the Sports of
the day: we called it 'Cub-Hunting') was finally aban-
doned. I witnessed it myself, as I happened to be passing
by at the moment, and was what we called *in at the
death.' I can see it now!" he went on in an excited tone,
gazing into vacancy with those large dreamy eyes of his.
"It seems like yesterday; and yet it happened — " He
checked himself hastily, and the remaining words died
away into a whisper.
''How many years ago did you say?" I asked, much
interested in the prospect of at last learning some definite
fact in his history.
"Many years ago," he replied. "The scene at the Rail-
way-Station had been (so they told me) one of wild
628 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
excitement. Eight or nine Heads of Colleges had as-
sembled at the gates (no one was allowed inside), and
the Station-Master had drawn a line on the pavement,
and insisted on their all standing behind it. The gates
were flung open! The young man darted through them,
and fled like lightning down the street, while the Heads
of Colleges actually yelled with excitement on catching
sight of him! The Proctor gave the word, in the old
statutory form, 'Semel! Bis! Ter! Currite!\ and the Hunt
began! Oh, it was a fine sight, believe me! At the first
corner he dropped his Greek Lexicon: further on, his
railway-rug: then various small articles: then his um-
brella: lastly, what I suppose he prized most, his hand-
bag: but the game was up: the spherical Principal of —
of-"
"Of which College?" I said.
" — of one of the Colleges," he resumed, "had put into
operation the Theory — his own discovery — of Accelerated
Velocity, and captured him just opposite to where I
stood. I shall never forget that wild breathless struggle!
But it was soon over. Once in those great bony hands,
escape was impossible!"
"May I ask why you speak of him as the 'sphericaV
Principal.^" I said.
"The epithet referred to his shape^ which was a perfect
sphere. You are aware that a bullet, another instance of
a perfect sphere, when falling in a perfectly straight line,
moves with Accelerated Velocity?"
I bowed assent.
"Well, my spherical friend (as I am proud to call him)
set himself to investigate the causes of this. He found
them to be three. One; that it is a perfect sphere. Two;
that it moves in a straight line. Three; that its direction
FAIRY-MUSIC 629
is not upwards. When these three conditions are fulfilled,
you get Accelerated Velocity."
"Hardly," I said: "if you will excuse my differing from
you. Suppose we apply the theory to horizontal motion.
If a bullet is fired horizontally^ it — "
" — it does not move in a straight line^' he quietly fin-
ished mv sentence for me.
"I yield the point," I said. "What did your friend do
next?"
"The next thing was to apply the theory, as you rightly
suggest, to horizontal motion. But the moving body, ever
tending to jall^ needs constant support^ if it is to move
in a true horizontal line. 'What, then,' he asked himself,
'will give constant support to a moving body?' And his
answer was 'Human legs!' That was the discovery that
immortalised his name!"
"His name being — ?" I suggested.
"I had not mentioned it," was the gentle reply of my
most unsatisfactory informant. "His next step was an
obvious one. He took to a diet of suet-dumplings, until
his body had become a perfect sphere. Then he went out
for his first experimental run — which nearly cost him his
life!"
"How was that?''
"Well, you see, he had no idea of the tremendous new
Force in Nature that he was calling into play. He began
too fast. In a very few minutes he found himself moving
at a hundred miles an hour! And, if he had not had
the presence of mind to charge into the middle of a hay-
stack (which he scattered to the four winds) there can be
no doubt that he would have left the Planet he belonged
to, and gone right away into Space!"
"And how came that to be the last of the Cub-Hunts?"'
I enquired.
630 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"Well, you see, it led to a rather scandalous dispute
between two o£ the Colleges. Afiother Principal had laid
his hand on the young man, so nearly at the same mo-
ment as the spherical one, that there was no knowing
which had touched him first. The dispute got into print,
and did us no credit, and, in short, Cub-Hunts came to
an end. Now I'll tell you what cured us of that wild
craze of ours, the bidding against each other, for the
clever scholars, just as if they were articles to be sold by
auction! Just when the craze had reached its highest
point, and when one of the Colleges had actually adver-
tised a Scholarship of one thousand pounds per annum,
one of our tourists brought us the manuscript of an old
African legend — I happen to have a copy of it in my
pocket. Shall I translate it for you?"
"Pray go on," I said, though I felt I was getting very
sleepy.
Chapter XIII
What Tottles Meant
Mein Herr unrolled the manuscript, but, to my great
surprise, instead of reading it, he began to sing it, in a
rich mellow voice that seemed to ring through the room.
"One thousand pounds per annuum
Is not so bad a figure, cornel"
Cried Tottles. "And 1 tell you, flat,
A man may marry ivell on that!
To say 'the Husband needs the Wife'
Is not the tvay to represent it.
The crotvning joy of Woman's life
Is Man!" said Tottles {and he meant it).
WHAT TOTTLES MEANT 63I
The blissful Honey-moon is past:
The Pair have settled down at last:
Mamma-in-law their home will share,
And make their happiness her care.
"Your income is an ample one:
Go it, my childrenl" {And they went it).
7 rayther thin\ this \ind of fun
Wont lastl" said Tottles {and he meant it).
They too\ a little country-box —
A box at Co vent Garden also:
They lived a life of double-\noc\s ,
Acquaintances began to call so:
Their London house was much the same
{It too\ three hundred, clear, to rent it)'.
"Life is a very jolly game!''
Cried happy Tottles {and he meant it).
"Contented with a frugal lot"
{He always used that phrase at Gunter s) ,
He bought a handy little yacht —
A dozen serviceable hunters —
The fishing of a Highland Loch —
A sailing-boat to circumvent it —
"The sounding of that Gaelic 'ocK
Beats me!" said Tottles {and he meant it).
Here, with one o£ those convulsive starts that wake
one up in the very act of dropping oflE to sleep, I became
conscious that the deep musical tones that thrilled me
did not belong to Mein Herr, but to the French Count.
The old man was still conning the manuscript.
"I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting!" he said.
"I was just making sure that I knew the English for all
the words. I am quite ready now." And he read me the
following Legend: —
632 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"In a city that stands in the very centre of Africa, and
is rarely visited by the casual tourist, the people had al-
ways bought eggs — a daily necessary in a climate where
egg-flip was the usual diet — from a Merchant who came
to their gates once a week. And the people always bid
wildly against each other: so there was quite a lively
auction every time the Merchant came, and the last tgg
in his basket used to fetch the value of two or three
camels, or thereabouts. And eggs got dearer every week.
And still they drank their egg-flip, and wondered where
all their money went to.
"And there came a day when they put their heads to-
gether. And they understood what donkeys they had
been.
"And next day, when the Merchant came, only one
Man went forth. And he said *Oh, thou of the hook-nose
and the goggle-eyes, thou of the measureless beard, how
much for that lot of eggs?'
"And the Merchant answered him 'I could let thee have
that lot at ten thousand piastres the dozen.'
"And the Man chuckled inwardly, and said 'Ten
piastres the dozen I offer thee, and no more, oh de-
scendant of a distinguished grandfather!'
"And the Merchant stroked his beard, and said 'Hum!
I will await the coming of thy friends.' So he waited.
And the Man waited with him. And they waited both
together."
"The manuscript breaks off here," said Mein Herr, as
he rolled it up again; "but it was enough to open our
eyes. We saw what simpletons we had been — buying our
Scholars much as those ignorant savages bought their
eggs — and the ruinous system was abandoned. If only we
could have abandoned, along with it, all the other fash-
ions we had borrowed from you, instead of carrying them
WHAT TOTTLES MEANT 633
to their logical results! But it was not to be. What ruined
my country, and drove me from my home, was the in-
troduction — into the Army, o£ all places — of your theory
of Political Dichotomy!"
"Shall I trouble you too much," I said, "if I ask you
to explain what you mean by 'the Theory of Political
Dichotomy'?"
"No trouble at all!" was Mein Herr's most courteous
reply. "I quite enjoy talking, when I get so good a listener.
What started the thing, with us, was the report brought
to us, by one of our most eminent statesmen, who had
stayed some time in England, of the way affairs were
managed there. It was a pohtical necessity (so he assured
us, and we believed him, though we had never discovered
it till that moment) that there should be two Parties, in
every affair and on every subject. In Politics, the two
Parties, which you had found it necessary to institute,
were called, he told us, 'Whigs' and 'Tories'."
"That must have been some time ago?" I remarked.
"It was some time ago," he admitted. "And this was
the way the affairs of the British Nation were managed.
(You will correct me if I misrepresent it. I do but repeat
what our traveler told us.) These two Parties — which
were in chronic hostility to each other — took turns in
conducting the Government; and the Party, that hap-
pened not to be in power, was called the 'Opposition', I
believe?"
"That is the right name," I said. "There have always
been, so long as we have had a Parliament at all, two
Parties, one 'in', and one 'out'."
"Well, the function of the 'Ins' (if I may so call them)
was to do the best they could for the national welfare —
in such things as making war or peace, commercial
treaties, and so forth?"
634 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"Undoubtedly," I said.
"And the function of the 'Outs' was (so our traveler
assured us, though we were very incredulous at first) to
prevent the 'Ins' from succeeding in any of these things?"
"To criticize and to amend their proceedings," I cor-
rected him. "It would be unpatriotic to hinder the Gov-
ernment in doing what was for the good of the Nation!
We have always held a Patriot to be the greatest of
heroes, and an unpatriotic spirit to be one of the worst
of human ills!"
"Excuse me for a moment," the old gentleman courte-
ously replied, taking out his pocket-book. "I have a few
memoranda here, of a correspondence I had with our
tourist, and, if you will allow me, I'll just refresh my
memory — although I quite agree with you — it is, as you
say, one of the worst of human ills — " And, here Mein
Herr began singing again : —
But oh, the worst of human ills
{Poor Pottles found) are "little bills"!
And, with no balance in the Ban\,
What wonder that his spirits san\?
Still, as the money flowed away.
He wondered how on earth she spent it,
"You cost me twenty pounds a day.
At least!" cried Pottles {and he meant it).
She sighed. "Phose Drawing Rooms, you \nowl
I really never thought about it:
Mamma declared we ought to go —
We should be Nobodies without it.
Phat diamond-circlet for my brow —
/ quite believed that she had sent it.
Until the Bill came in just now — "
"Viper!" cried Pottles {and he meant it).
WHAT TOTTLES MEANT 635
Poor Mrs. T. could bear no more,
But fainted flat upon the floor.
Mamma-in-law , with anguish wild,
See\s, all in vain, to rouse her child.
"Quic}{\ 'Ta\e this box of smelling-salts!
Don't scold her, James, or you II repent it,
She's a dear girl, with all her faults — "
"She is!" groaned Tottles {and he meant it).
'7 was a don\ey," Tottles cried,
''To choose your daughter for my bride!
'Twas you that bid us cut a dash!
'Tis you have brought us to this smash!
You don't suggest one single thing
That can in any way prevent it — "
''Then what's the use of arguing?"
Shut up!" cried Tottles (and he meant it).
Once more I started into wakefulness, and realised that
Mein Herr was not the singer. He was still consulting
his memoranda.
"It is exactly what my friend told me," he resumed,
after conning over various papers. " 'Unpatriotic is the ,
very word I had used, in writing to him, and 'hinder is
the very word he used in his reply! Allow me to read
you a portion of his letter: —
ti t\
7 can assure you,' he writes, 'that, unpatriotic as you may
thin\ it, the recognised function of the 'Opposition' is to.
hinder in every manner not forbidden by the Law, the
action of the Government. This process is called 'Legitimate
Obstruction': and the greatest triumph the 'Opposition' can
ever enjoy, ts when they are able to point out that, owing to
their 'Obstruction , the Government have failed in every-
thing they have tried to do for the good of the Nation!' "
636 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"Your friend has not put it quite correctly," I said.
"The Opposition would no doubt be glad to point out
that the Government had failed through their own fault;
but not that they had failed on account of Obstruction T
"You think so?" he gently replied. "Allow me now to
read to you this newspaper-cutting, which my friend en-
closed in his letter. It is part of the report of a public
speech, made by a Statesman who was at the time a
member of the 'Opposition': —
if I
'At the close of the Session, he thought they had no'
reason to be discontented with the fortunes of the campaign.
They had routed the enemy at every point. But the pursuit
must be continued. They had only to follow up a disordered
and dispirited foe!
> >f
"Now to what portion of your national history would
you guess that the speaker was referring?"
"Really, the number of successful wars we have waged
during the last century," I replied, with a glow of British
pride, "is far too great for me to guess, with any chance
of success, which it was we were then engaged in. How-
ever, I will name 'India as the most probable. The
Mutiny was no doubt, all but crushed, at the time that
speech was made. What a fine, manly, patriotic speech
it must have been!" I exclaimed in an outburst of en-
thusiasm.
"You think so?" he replied, in a tone of gentle pity.
"Yet my friend tells me that the 'disordered and dispirit-
ed foe' simply meant the Statesmen who happened to be
in power at the moment; that the 'pursuit' simply meant
'Obstruction'; and that the words 'they had routed the
enemy simply meant that the 'Opposition' had succeeded
in hindering the Government from doing any of the work
which the Nation had empowered them to do!"
WHAT TOTTLES MEANT 637
I thought it best to say nothing.
"It seemed queer to us, just at first," he resumed, after
courteously waiting a minute for me to speak : "but, when
once we had mastered the idea, our respect for your Na-
tion was so great that we carried it into every department
of Hfe! It was 'the beginning of the end' with us. My
country never held up its head again!" And the poor old
gentleman sighed deeply.
"Let us change the subject," I said. "Do not distress
yourself, I beg!"
"No, no!" he said, with an effort to recover himself.
"I had rather finish my story! The next step (after re-
ducing our Government to impotence, and putting a stop
to all useful legislation, which did not take us long to
do) was to introduce what we called 'the glorious British
Principle of Dichotomy' into Agriculture, We persuaded
many of the well-to-do farmers to divide their staff of
labourers into two Parties, and to set them one against
the other. They were called, like our political Parties, the
'Ins' and the 'Outs': the business of the 'Ins' was to do
as much of ploughing, sowing, or whatever might be
needed, as they could manage in a day, and at night they
were paid according to the amount they had done: the
business of the 'Outs' was to hinder them, and they were
paid for the amount they had hindered. The farmers
found they had to pay only half as much wages as they
did before, and they didn't observe that the amount of
work done was only a quarter as much as was done be-
fore : so they took it up quite enthusiastically, at first''
"And afterwards — ?" I enquired.
"Well, afterwards they didn't like it quite so well. In
a very short time, things settled down into a regular
routine. No work at all was done. So the 'Ins' got no
wages, and the 'Outs' got full pay. And the farmers never
638 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
discovered, till most of them were ruined, that the rascals
had agreed to manage it so, and had shared the pay be-
tween them! While the thing lasted, there were funny
sights to be seen! Why, Fve often watched a ploughman,
with two horses harnessed to the plough, doing his best
to get it forwards; while the opposition-ploughman, with
three donkeys harnessed at the other end, was doing his
best to get it backwards! And the plough never moving
an inch, either way!"
"But we never did anything like that!'' I exclaimed.
"Simply because you were less logical than we were,"
replied Mein Herr. "There is sometimes an advantage in
being a donk — Excuse me! No personal allusion intended.
All this happened long agOy you know!"
"Did the Dichotomy-Principle succeed in any direc-
tion .f^" I enquired.
"In none^'' Mein Herr candidly confessed. "It had a
very short trial in Commerce. The shop-keepers wouldn't
take it up, after once trying the plan of having half the
attendants busy in folding up and carrying away the
goods which the other half were trying to spread out up-
on the counters. They said the Public didn't like it!"
"I don't wonder at it," I remarked.
"Well, we tried 'the British Principle' for some years.
And the end of it all was — " His voice suddenly dropped,
almost to a whisper; and large tears began to roll down
his cheeks. " — the end was that we got involved in a
war; and there was a great battle, in which we far out-
numbered the enemy. But what could one expect, when
only half of our soldiers were fighting, and the other half
pulling them back? It ended in a crushing defeat — an
utter rout. This caused a Revolution; and most of the
Government were banished. I myself was accused of
Treason, for having so strongly advocated *the British
WHAT TOTTLES MEANT 639
Principle.' My property was all forfeited, and — and — I
was driven into exile! 'Now the mischief's done,' they
said, 'perhaps you'll kindly leave the country?' It nearly
broke my heart, but I had to go!"
The melancholy tone became a wail: the wail became
a chant: the chant became a song — though whether it
was Mein Herr that was singing, this time, or somebody
else, I could not feel certain.
"And, now the mischiefs done, perhaps
You'll \indly go and pac\ your traps?
Since two {your daughter and your son)
Are Company, but three are none,
A course of saving we'll begin:
When change is needed, I'll invent it:
Don't thin\ to put your finger in
This piel" cried Tottles {and he meant it)
The music seemed to die away. Mein Herr was again
speaking in his ordinary voice. "Now tell me one thing
more," he said. "Am I right in thinking that in your
Universities, though a man may reside some thirty or
forty years, you examine him, once for all, at the end of
the first three or four?"
"That is so, undoubtedly," I admitted.
"Practically, then, you examine a man at the beginning
of his career!" the old man said to himself rather than
to me. "And what guarantee have you that he retains the
knowledge for which you have rewarded him — before-
hand, as tve should say?"
"None," I admitted, feeling a little puzzled at the drift
of his remarks. "How do you secure that object?"
"By examining him at the end of his thirty or forty
years — not at the beginning," he gently replied. "On an
average, the knowledge then found is about one-fifth of
640 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
what it was at first — the process of forgetting going on
at a very steady uniform rate — and he, who forgets least,
gets most honour, and most rewards."
"Then you give him the money when he needs it no
longer? And you make him hve most of his hfe on
nothing!''
"Hardly that. He gives his orders to the tradesmen:
they supply him, for forty, sometimes fifty years, at their
own risk: then he gets his Fellowship — which pays him
in one year as much as your Fellowships pay in fifty —
and then he can easily pay all his bills, with interest."
"But suppose he fails to get his Fello wship .^^ That must
occasionally happen."
"That occasionally happens." It was Mein Herr's turn,
now, to make admissions.
"And what becomes of the tradesmen.^"
"They calculate accordingly. When a man appears to be
getting alarmingly ignorant, or stupid, they will some-
times refuse to supply him any longer. You have no idea
with what enthusiasm a man will begin to rub up his
forgotten sciences or languages, when his butcher has cut
oflf the supply of beef and mutton!"
"And who are the Examiners?"
"The young men who have just come, brimming over
with knowledge. You would think it a curious sight," he
went on, "to see mere boys examining such old men. I
have known a man set to examine his own grandfather.
It was a little painful for both of them, no doubt. The
old gentleman was as bald as a coot — "
"How bald would that be?" I've no idea why I asked
this question. I felt I was getting foolish.
Chapter XIV
Bruno's Picnic
*'As bald as bald," was the bewildering reply. "Now,
Bruno, I'll tell you a story."
"And ril tell oo a story," said Bruno, beginning in a
great hurry for fear of Sylvie getting the start of him:
"once there were a Mouse — a little tiny Mouse — such a
tiny little Mouse! Oo never saw such a tiny Mouse — "
"Did nothing ever happen to it, Bruno?" I asked.
"Haven't you anything more to tell us, besides its being
so tiny?"
"Nothing never happened to it," Bruno solemnly re-
plied.
"Why did nothing never happen to it?" said Sylvie,
who was sitting, with her head on Bruno's shoulder,
patiently waiting for a chance of beginning her story.
"It were too tiny," Bruno explained.
''That's no reason!" I said. "However tiny it was, things
might happen to it."
Bruno looked pityingly at me, as if he thought me very
stupid. "It were too tiny," he repeated. "If anything hap-
pened to it, it would die — it were so very tiny!"
"Really that's enough about its being tiny!" Sylvie put
in. "Haven't you invented any more about it?"
'Haven't invented no more yet."
'Well, then, you shouldn't begin a story till you've in-
vented more! Now be quiet, there's a good boy, and listen
to my story."
And Bruno, having quite exhausted all his inventive
faculty, by beginning in too great a hurry, quietly re-
signed himself to Hstening. "Tell about the other Bruno,
please," he said coaxingly,
641
C(-
(('
642 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Sylvie put her arms round his neck, and began: —
"The wind was whispering among the trees," ("That
wasn't good manners!" Bruno interrupted. "Never mind
about manners," said Sylvie) "and it was evening — a nice
moony evening, and the Owls were hooting — "
"Pretend they weren't Owls!" Bruno pleaded, stroking
her cheek with his fat little hand. "I don't like Owls.
Owls have such great big eyes. Pretend they were
Chickens!"
"Are you afraid of their great big eyes, Bruno?" I said.
"Aren't 'fraid of nothing," Bruno answered in as care-
less a tone as he could manage: "they're ugly with their
great big eyes. I think if they cried, the tears v/ould be
as big — oh, as big as the moon!" And he laughed merrily.
"Doos Owls cry ever, Mister Sir?"
"Owls cry never," I said gravely, trying to copy Bruno's
way of speaking: "they've got nothing to be sorry for,
you know."
"Oh, but they have!" Bruno exclaimed. "They're ever
so sorry, 'cause they killed the poor little Mouses!"
"But they're not sorry when they're hungry^ I suppose?"
"Oo don't know nothing about Owls!" Bruno scorn-
fully remarked. "When they're hungry, they're very, very
sorry they killed the little Mouses, 'cause if they hadn't
killed them there'd be sumfin for supper, 00 know!"
Bruno was evidently getting into a dangerously inven-
tive state of mind, so Sylvie broke in with "Now I'm go-
ing on with the story. So the Owls — the Chickens, I mean
— were looking to see if they could find a nice fat Mouse
for their supper — "
"Pretend it was a nice 'abbit!" said Bruno.
"But it wasn't a nice habit, to kill Mouses," Sylvie
argued. "I can't pretend that!''
Bruno's picnic 643
"I didn't say 'habit^ 00 silly fellow!" Bruno replied
with a merry twinkle in his eye. " 'abbits — that runs about
in the fields!"
"Rabbit? Well it can be a Rabbit, if you like. But you
mustn't alter my story so much, Bruno. A Chicken
couldn't eat a Rabbit!"
"But it might have wished to see if it could try to eat it."
"Well, it wished to see if it could try — oh, really, Bruno,
that's nonsense! I shall go back to the Owls."
"Well then, pretend they hadn't great eyes!"
"And they saw a little Boy," Sylvie went on, disdaining
to make any further corrections. "And he asked them to
tell him a story. And the Owls hooted and flew away — "
("Oo shouldn't say 'fiewedf 00 should say 'flied,' " Bruno
whispered. But Sylvie wouldn't hear.) "And he met a
Lion. And he asked the Lion to tell him a story. And the
Lion said 'yes,' it would. And, while the Lion was telling
him the story, it nibbled some of his head off — "
"Don't say 'nibbled'!" Bruno entreated. "Only little
things nibble — little thin sharp things, with edges — "
"Well then, it 'nubbled^' " said Sylvie. "And when it had
nubbled all his head off, he went away, and he never said
'thank you'!"
"That were very rude," said Bruno. "If he couldn't
speak, he might have nodded — no, he couldn't nod. Well,
he might have shaked hands with the Lion!"
"Oh, I'd forgotten that part!" said Sylvie. "He did shake
hands with it. He came back again, you know, and he
thanked the Lion very much, for telling him the story."
"Then his head had growed up again?" said Bruno.
"Oh yes, it grew up in a minute. And the Lion begged
pardon, and said it wouldn't nubble off little boys' heads
— not never no more!"
644 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Bruno looked much pleased at this change of events.
"Now that are a really nice story!" he said. ''Arent it a
nice story, Mister Sir?"
"Very," I said. "I would like to hear another story
about that Boy."
"So would /," said Bruno, stroking Sylvie's cheek again.
''Please tell about Bruno's Picnic; and don't talk about
nubbly Lions!"
"I won't, if it frightens you," said Sylvie.
''Flightens me!" Bruno exclaimed indignantly. "It isn't
that! It's 'cause 'nubbly' 's such a grumbly word to say —
when one person's got her head on another person's shoul-
der. When she talks like that," he exclaimed to me, "the
talking goes down bofe sides of my face — all the way to
my chin — and it doos tickle so! It's enough to make a
beard grow, that it is!"
He said this was great severity, but it was evidently
meant for a joke: so Sylvie laughed — a delicious musical
little laugh, and laid her soft cheek on the top of her
brother's curly head, as if it were a pillow, while she went
on with the story. "So this Boy — "
"But it wasn't me^ 00 know!" Bruno interrupted. "And
00 needn't try to look as if it was, Mister Sir!"
I represented, respectfully, that I was trying to look as
if it wasn't.
" — he was a middling good Boy — "
"He were a welly good Boy!" Bruno corrected her,
"And he never did nothing he wasn't told to do — "
''That doesn't make a good Boy!" Sylvie said con-
temptuously.
"That do make a good Boy!" Bruno insisted.
Sylvie gave up the point. "Well, he was a very good
Boy, and he always kept his promises, and he had a big
cupboard — "
Bruno's picnic 645
" — for to keep all his promises in!" cried Bruno.
"If he kept all his promises," Sylvie said, with a mis-
chievous look in her eyes, "he wasn't like some Boys I
know of!"
"He had to put salt with them, a-course," Bruno said
gravely: "00 ca'n't keep promises when there isn't any
salt. And he kept his birthday on the second shelf."
"How long did he keep his birthday?" I asked. "I
never can keep mine more than twenty-four hours."
"Why, a birthday stays that long by itself!" cried Bruno.
"Oo doosn't know how to keep birthdays! This Boy kept
his a whole year!"
"And then the next birthday would begin," said Sylvie.
"So it would be his birthday always^
"So it were," said Bruno. "Doos 00 have treats on oor
birthday, Mister Sir.?"
"Sometimes," I said.
When oo're goody I suppose?"
Why, it is a sort of treat, being good, isn't it?" I said.
"A sort of treat!'' Bruno repeated. "It's a sort of punish-
ment, I think!"
» "Oh, Bruno!" Sylvie interrupted, almost sadly. "How
can you?"
"Well, but it /V," Bruno persisted. "Why, look here,
Mister Sir! This is being good!" And he sat bolt upright,
and put on an absurdly solemn face. "First 00 must sit
up as straight as pokers — "
— as a poker," Sylvie corrected him.
— as straight as pokers,' Bruno firmly repeated. "Then
00 must clasp oor hands — so. Then — 'Why hasn't 00
brushed oor hair? Go and brush it torec\ly!' Then — 'Oh,
Bruno, 00 mustn't dog's-ear the daisies!' Did 00 learn oor
spelling wiz daisies. Mister Sir?"
"I want to hear about that Boy's Birthday," I said.
<«'
Cf
a
u
646 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Bruno returned to the story instantly. "Well, so this
Boy said 'Now it's my Birthday!' And so — I'm tired!" he
suddenly broke of?, laying his head in Sylvie's lap. "Sylvie
knows it best. Sylvie's grown-upper than me. Go on,
Sylvie!"
Sylvie patiently took up the thread of the story again.
"So he said 'Now it's my Birthday. Whatever shall I do
to keep my Birthday? All good little Boys — " (Sylvie
turned away from Bruno, and made a great pretence of
whispering to me) " — all good little Boys — Boys that
learn their lessons quite perfect — they always keep their
birthdays, you know. So of course this little Boy kept his
Birthday."
"Oo may call him Bruno, if 00 like," the little fellow
carelessly remarked. "It weren't me^ but it makes it more
interesting."
"So Bruno said to himself 'The properest thing to do
is to have a Picnic, all by myself, on the top of the hill.
And I'll take some Milk, and some Bread, and some
Apples: and first and foremost, I want some M//^/' So,
first and foremost, Bruno took a milk-pail — "
"And he went and milkted the Cow!" Bruno put in.
"Yes," said Sylvie, meekly accepting the new verb.
"And the Cow said 'Moo! What are you going to do with
all that Milk?' And Bruno said 'Please'm, I want it for
my Picnic' And the Cow said 'Moo! But I hope you
wo'n't boil anv of it?' And Bruno said 'No, indeed I
wo'n't! New Milk's so nice and so warm, it wants no
boiling!' "
"It doesn't want no boiling," Bruno offered as an
amended version.
"So Bruno put the Milk in a bottle. And then Bruno
said 'Now I want some Bread!' So he went to the Oven,
Bruno's picnic 647
and he took out a delicious new Loaf. And the Oven — "
" — ever so Hght and so puffy!" Bruno impatiently cor-
rected her. "Oo shouldn't leave out so many vs^ords!"
Sylvie humbly apologised. " — a delicious new Loaf,
ever so light and so puffy. And the Oven said — " Here
Sylvie made a long pause. "Really I don't know what an
Oven begins with, when it wants to speak!"
Both children looked appealingly at me; but I could
only say, helplessly^ "I haven't the least idea! / never
heard an Oven speak!"
For a minute or two we all sat silent; and then Bruno
said, very softly, "Oven begins wiz 'O'."
''Good little boy!" Sylvie exclaimed. "He does his spell-
ing very nicely. Hes cleverer than he kjiowsT she added,
aside, to me. "So the Oven said 'O! What are you going
to do with all that Bread?' And Bruno said Tlease — '•
Is an Oven *Sir' or ' 'm,' would you say?" She looked to
me for a reply.
"5o//?, I think," seemed to me the safest thing to say.
Sylvie adopted the suggestion instantly. "So Bruno said
Tlease, Sirm, I want it for my Picnic' And the Oven
said 'O! But I hope you wo'n't toast any of it?' And
Bruno said, 'No, indeed I wo'n't! New Bread's so light
and so puffy, it wants no toasting!' "
"It never doesn't want no toasting," said Bruno. "I
wiss 00 wouldn't say it so short!"
"So Bruno put the Bread in the hamper. Then Bruno
said 'Now I want some Apples!' So he took the hamper,
and he went to the Apple-Tree, and he picked some
lovely ripe Apples. And the Apple-Tree said" — Here
followed another long pause.
Bruno adopted his favourite expedient of tapping his
forehead; while Sylvie gazed earnestly upwards, as if she
648 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
hoped for some suggestion from the birds, who were
singing merrily among the branches overhead. But no
result followed.
"What does an Apple-Tree begin with, when it wants
to speak?" Sylvie murmured despairingly, to the irre-
sponsive birds.
At last, taking a leaf out of Bruno's book, I ventured
on a remark. "Doesn't *Apple-Tree' always begin with
^Eh!'?"
"Why, of course it does! How clever of you!" Sylvie
cried delightedly.
Bruno jumped up, and patted me on the head. I tried
not to feel conceited.
"So the Apple-Tree said 'Eh! What are you going to
do with all those Apples?' And Bruno said Tlease, Sir, I
want them for my Picnic' And the Apple-Tree said 'Eh!
But I hope you wo'n't ba^e any of them?' And Bruno
said 'No, indeed I wo'n't! Ripe Apples are so nice and
so sweet, they want no baking!' "
"They never doesn't — " Bruno was beginning, but
Sylvie corrected herself before he could get the words out.
" 'They never doesn't nohow want no baking.' So
Bruno put the Apples in the hamper, along with the
Bread, and the bottle of Milk. And he set off to have a
Picnic, on the top of the hill, all by himself — "
"He wasn't greedy, 00 know, to have it all by himself,"
Bruno said, patting me on the cheek to call my atten-
tion; "'cause he hadn't got no brothers and sisters."
"It was very sad to have no sisters ^ wasn't it?" I said.
"Well, I don't know," Bruno said thoughtfully; " 'cause
he hadn't no lessons to do. So he didn't mind."
Sylvie went on. "So, as he was walking along the road,
he heard behind him such a curious sort of noise — a sort
of a Thump! Thump! Thump! 'Whatever is that?' said
Bruno's picnic 649
Bruno. 'Oh, I know!' said Bruno. 'Why, it's only my
Watch a-ticking!' "
''Were it his Watch a-ticking?" Bruno asked me, with
eyes that fairly sparkled with mischievous delight.
"No doubt of it!" I replied. And Bruno laughed exult-
ingly.
"Then Bruno thought a little harder. And he said
*No! it cant be my Watch a-ticking; because I haven't
^o^ a Watch!'"
Bruno peered up anxiously into my face, to see how I
took it. I hung my head, and put a thumb into my
mouth, to the evident delight of the little fellow.
"So Bruno went a little further along the road. And
then he heard it again, that queer noise — Thump!
Thump! Thump! 'Whatever is that?' said Bruno. 'Oh, I
know!' said Bruno. 'Why, it's only the Carpenter a-mend-
ing my Wheelbarrow!' "
"Were it the Carpenter a-mending his Wheelbarrow?"
Bruno asked me.
I brightened up, and said "It must have been!" in a
tone of absolute conviction.
Bruno threw his arms round Sylvie's neck. "Sylvie!"
he said, in a perfectly audible whisper. "He says it must
have been!"
"Then Bruno thought a little harder. And he said 'No!
It cant be the Carpenter a-mending my Wheelbarrow,
because I haven't got a Wheelbarrow!' "
This time I hid my face in my hands, quite unable to
meet Bruno's look of triumph.
"So Bruno went a little further along the road. And
then he heard that queer noise again — Thump! Thump!
Thump! So he thought he'd look round, this time, just
to see what it was. And what should it be but a great
Lion!"
650 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"A great big Lion," Bruno corrected her.
"A great big Lion. And Bruno was ever so frightened,
and he ran — "
"No, he wasn't flightened a bit!" Bruno interrupted.
(He was evidently anxious for the reputation of his name-
sake.) "He runned away to get a good look at the Lion;
'cause he wanted to see if it were the same Lion what
used to nubble little Boys' heads oflf; and he wanted to
know how big it was!"
"Well, he ran away, to get a good look at the Lion.
And the Lion trotted slowly after him. And the Lion
called after him, in a very gentle voice, 'Little Boy, little
Boy! You needn't be afraid of me! I'm a very gentle old
Lion now. I never nubble little Boys' heads oflf, as I used
to do.' And so Bruno said 'Don't you really, Sir? Then
what do you live on?' And the Lion — "
"Oo see he weren't a bit flightened!" Bruno said to me,
patting my cheek again. " 'cause he remembered to call
it 'Sir,' 00 know."
I said that no doubt that was the real test whether a
person was frightened or not.
"And the Lion said 'Oh, I live on bread-and-butter, and
cherries, and marmalade, and plum-cake — ' "
" — and applesT Bruno put in.
"Yes, 'and apples.' And Bruno said 'Won't you come
with me to my Picnic?' And the Lion said 'Oh, I should
like it very much indeed!' And Bruno and the Lion went
away together." Sylvie stopped suddenly.
"Is that all?'' I asked, despondingly.
"Not quite all," Sylvie slily replied. "There's a sentence
or two more. Isn't there, Bruno?"
"Yes," with a carelessness that was evidently put on:
<<• ^ ^ ^ >»
]ust a sentence or two more.
"And, as they were walking along, they looked over
Bruno's picnic 651
a hedge, and who should they see but a Uttle black Lamb!
And the Lamb was ever so frightened. And it ran — "
"It were really {lightened !" Bruno put in.
"It ran away. And Bruno ran after it. And he called
'Little Lamb! You needn't be afraid of Ms Lion! It
never kills things! It lives on cherries, and marmalade — ' "
" — and apples!'' said Bruno. "Oo always forgets the
apples!"
"And Bruno said 'Wo'n't you come with us to my
Picnic?' And the Lamb said 'Oh, I should like it very
much indeed^ if my Ma will let me!' And Bruno said
'Let's go and ask you Ma!' And they went to the old
Sheep. And Bruno said 'Please, may your little Lamb
come to my Picnic?' And the Sheep said 'Yes, if it's
learnt all its lessons.' And the Lamb said 'Oh yes. Ma!
I've learnt all my lessons!'"
"Pretend it hadn't any lessons!" Bruno earnestly
pleaded.
"Oh, that would never do!" said Sylvie. "I ca'n't leave
out all about the lessons! And the old Sheep said 'Do
you know your ABC yet? Have you learnt A?' And
the Lamb said 'Oh yes. Ma! I went to the A-field, and I
helped them to make A!' 'Very good, my child! And
have you learnt B?' 'Oh yes. Ma! I went to the B-hive,
and the B gave me some honey!' 'Very good, my child!
And have you learnt C?' 'Oh yes. Ma! I went to the C-
side, and I saw the ships sailing on the C!' 'Very good,
my child! You may go to Bruno's Picnic' "
"So they set off. And Bruno walked in the middle, so
that the Lamb mightn't see the Lion — "
"It were jlightened^' Bruno explained.
"Yes, and it trembled so; and it got paler and paler;
and, before they'd got to the top of the hill, it was a
white little Lamb — as white as snow!"
652 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"But Bruno weren't flightened!" said the owner of
that name. "So he staid black!"
"No, he didn't stay black! He staid pinJ^r laughed
Sylvie. "I shouldn't kiss you like this, you know, if you
were blac\r
"Oo'd have to!" Bruno said with great decision. "Be-
sides, Bruno wasn't Bruno, 00 know — I mean, Bruno
wasn't me — I mean — don't talk nonsense, Sylvie!"
"I won't do it again!" Sylvie said very humbly. "And
so, as they went along, the Lion said 'Oh, I'll tell you
what I used to do when I was a young Lion. I used to
hide behind trees, to watch for little Boys.' " (Bruno
cuddled a little closer to her.) " 'And, if a little thin
scraggy Boy came by, why, I used to let him go. But, if
a little fat juicy — ' "
Bruno could bear no more. "Pretend he wasn't juicy!"
he pleaded, half-sobbing.
"Nonsense, Bruno!" Sylvie briskly replied. "It'll be
done in a moment! ' — if a little fat juicy Boy came by,
why, I used to spring out and gobble him up! Oh, you've
no idea what a delicious thing it is — a little juicy Boy!'
And Bruno said 'Oh, if you please, Sir, dont talk about
eating little boys! It makes me so shivery!' "
The real Bruno shivered, in sympathy with the hero.
"And the Lion said 'Oh, well, we won't talk about it,
then! I'll tell you what happened on my wedding-day — ' "
"I like this part better," said Bruno, patting my cheek
to keep me awake.
"'There was, oh, such a lovely wedding-breakfast! At
one end of the table there was a large plum-pudding.
And at the other end there was a nice roasted Lamb!
Oh, you've no idea what a delicious thing it is — a nice
roasted Lamb!' And the Lamb said 'Oh, if you please.
Sir, dont talk about eating Lambs! It makes me so
I
THE LITTLE FOXES 653
shiveryl' And the Lion said 'Oh, well, we won't talk
about it, then!'"
Chapter XV
The Little Foxes
**So, when they got to the top of the hill, Bruno opened
the hamper : and he took out the Bread, and the Apples,
and the Milk: and they ate, and they drank. And when
they'd finished the Milk, and eaten half the Bread and
half the Apples, the Lamb said 'Oh, my paws is so sticky!
I want to wash my paws!' And the Lion said 'Well, go
down the hill, and wash them in the brook, yonder.
We'll wait for you!' "
"It never comed back!" Bruno solemnly whispered to
me.
But Sylvie overheard him. "You're not to whisper,
Bruno! It spoils the story! And when the Lamb had been
gone a long time, the Lion said to Bruno 'Do go and
see after that silly little Lamb! It must have lost its way.'
And Bruno went down the hill. And when he got to
the brook, he saw the Lamb sitting on the bank: and
who should be sitting by it but an old Fox!"
"Don't know who should be sitting by it," Bruno said
thoughtfully to himself. "A old Fox were sitting by it."
"And the old Fox were saying," Sylvie went on, for
once conceding the grammatical point, " 'Yes, my dear,
you'll be ever so happy with us, if you'll only come and
see us! I've got three little Foxes there, and we do love
little Lambs so dearly!' And the Lamb said 'But you
never eat them, do you. Sir?' And the Fox said 'Oh, no!
654 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
What, eat a Lamb? We never dream o£ doing such a
thing!' So the Lamb said 'Then I'll come with you.' And
ofif they went, hand in hand."
"That Fox were welly extremely wicked, weren't it.^"
said Bruno.
"No, no!" said Sylvie, rather shocked at such violent
language. "It wasn't quite so bad as that!"
"Well, I mean, it wasn't nice," the little fellow cor-
rected himself.
"And so Bruno went back to the Lion. 'Oh, come
quick!' he said. 'The Fox has taken the Lamb to his
house with him! I'm sure he means to eat it!' And the
Lion said 'I'll come as quick as ever I can!' And they
trotted down the hill."
"Do 00 think he caught the Fox, Mister Sir?" said
Bruno. I shook my head, not liking to speak: and Sylvie
went on.
"And when they got to the house, Bruno looked in at
the window. And there he saw the three little Foxes sit-
ting round the table, with their clean pinafores on^ and
spoons in their hands — "
"Spoons in their hands!" Bruno repeated in an ecstasy
of delight.
"And the Fox had got a great big knife — all ready to
kill the poor little Lamb — " ("Oo needn't be flightened,
Mister Sir!" Bruno put in, in a hasty whisper.)
"And just as he was going to do it, Bruno heard a
great ROAR — " (The real Bruno put his hand into mine,
and held tight), "and the Lion came bang through the
door, and the next moment it had bitten off the old
Fox's head! And Bruno jumped in at the window, and
went leaping round the room, and crying out 'Hooray!
Hooray! The old Fox is dead! The old Fox is dead!' "
THE LITTLE FOXES 655
Bruno got up in some excitement. "May I do it now?"
he enquired.
Sylvie was quite decided on this point. "Wait till after-
wards," she said. "The speeches come next, don't you
know? You always love the speeches, dont you?"
"Yes, I doos," said Bruno : and sat down again.
"The Lion's speech. *Now, you silly little Lamb, go
home to your mother, and never listen to old Foxes
again. And be very good and obedient.' "
"The Lamb's speech. 'Oh, indeed, Sir, I will, Sir!' and
the Lamb went away." ("But 00 needn't go away!"
Bruno explained. "It's quite the nicest part — what's com-
ing now!" Sylvie smiled. She liked having an apprecia-
tive audience.)
"The Lion's speech to Bruno. 'Now, Bruno, take those
little Foxes home with you, and teach them to be good
obedient little Foxes! Not like that wicked old thing
there, that's got no head!' " ("That hasn't got no head,"
Bruno repeated.)
"Bruno's speech to the Lion. 'Oh, indeed. Sir, I will.
Sir!' And the Lion went away." ("It gets betterer and
betterer, now," Bruno whispered to me, "right away to
the end!")
"Bruno's speech to the little Foxes. 'Now, little Foxes,
you're going to have your first lesson in being good. I'm
going to put you into the hamper, along with the Apples
and the Bread: and you're not to eat the Apples: and
you're not to eat the Bread: and you're not to eat any-
thing— till we get to my house : and then you'll have your
supper.' "
"The little Foxes' speech to Bruno. The little Foxes
said nothing.
"So Bruno put the Apples into the hamper — and the
656 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
little Foxes — and the Bread — " ("They had picnicked all
the Milk," Bruno explained in a whisper) " — and he set
off to go to his house." ("We're getting near the end
now," said Bruno.)
"And, when he had got a little way, he thought he
would look into the hamper, and see how the little Foxes
were getting on."
"So he opened the door — " said Bruno.
"Oh, Bruno!" Sylvie exclaimed, ''you're not telling the
story! So he opened the door, and behold, there were no
Apples! So Bruno said 'Eldest little Fox, have you been
eating the Apples?' And the eldest little Fox said *No
no no!' " (It is impossible to give the tone in which Sylvie
repeated this rapid little *No no no!' The nearest I can
come to it is to say that it was much as if a young and
excited duck had tried to quack the words. It was too
quick for a quack, and yet too harsh to be anything else.)
"Then he said 'Second little Fox, have you been eating
the Apples?' And the second little Fox said 'No no no!'
Then he said 'Youngest little Fox, have you been eating
the Apples?' And the youngest little Fox tried to say
'No no no!' but its mouth was so full, it couldn't, and it
only said 'Wauch! Wauch! Wauch!' And Bruno looked
into its mouth. And its mouth was full of Apples! And
Bruno shook his head, and he said 'Oh dear, oh dear!
What bad creatures these Foxes are!' "
Bruno was listening intently: and, when Sylvie paused
to take breath, he could only just gasp out the words
"About the Bread?"
"Yes," said Sylvie, "the Bread comes next. So he shut
the door again; and he went a little further; and then
he thought he'd just peep in once more. And behold,
there was no Bread!" ("What do 'behold' mean?'' said
Bruno. "Hush!" said Sylvie.) "And he said 'Eldest little
THE LITTLE FOXES 657
Fox, have you been eating the Bread?' And the eldest
Httle Fox said *No no no!' ^Second Uttle Fox, have you
been eating the Bread?' And the second Uttle Fox only
said *Wauch! Wauch! Wauch!' And Bruno looked into
its mouth, and its mouth was full of Bread!" ("It might
have chokeded it," said Bruno.) "So he said *Oh dear,
oh dear! What shall I do with these Foxes?' And he went
a little further." ("Now comes the most interesting part,"
Bruno whispered.)
"And when Bruno opened the hamper again, what do
you think he saw?" ("Only two Foxes!" Bruno cried in
a great hurry.) "You shouldn't tell it so quick. However,
he did see only two Foxes. And he said 'Eldest little Fox,
have you been eating the youngest little Fox?' And the
eldest little Fox said *No no no!' 'Second little Fox, have
you been eating the youngest little Fox ? ' And the second
little Fox did its very best to say 'No no no!' but it could
only say 'Weuchk! Weuchk! Weuchk!' And when Bruno
looked into its mouth, it was half full of Bread, and half
full of Fox!" (Bruno said nothing in the pause this time.
He was beginning to pant a little, as he knew the crisis
was coming.)
"And when he'd got nearly home, he looked once more
into the hamper, and he saw — "
"Only — " Bruno began, but a generous thought struck
him, and he looked at me. "Oo may say it, this time.
Mister Sir!" he whispered. It was a noble offer, but I
wouldn't rob him of the treat. "Go on, Bruno," I said,
"you say it much the best." "Only — but — one — Fox!"
Bruno said with great solemnity.
" 'Eldest little Fox,' " Sylvie said, dropping the narra-
tive-form in her eagerness, " 'You've been so good that
I can hardly believe you've been disobedient: but I'm
afraid you've been eating your little sister?' And the
658 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
eldest little Fox said Whihuauch! Whihuauch!' and then
it choked. And Bruno looked into its mouth, and it was
full!" (Sylvie paused to take breath, and Bruno lay back
among the daisies, and looked at me triumphantly. "Isn't
it grand ^ Mister Sir?" said he. I tried hard to assume a
critical tone. "It's grand," I said: "but it frightens one so!"
"Oo may sit a little closer to me^ if 00 like," said Bruno.)
"And so Bruno went home: and took the hamper into
the kitchen, and opened it. And he saw — " Sylvie looked
at me J this time, as if she thought I had been rather
neglected and ought to be allowed one guess, at any rate.
"He ca'n't guess!" Bruno cried eagerly. "I 'fraid I must
tell him! There weren't — nuffin in the hamper!" I shiv-
ered in terror, and Bruno clapped his hands with delight.
"He is flightened, Sylvie! Tell the rest!"
"So Bruno said ^Eldest little Fox, have you been eating
yourself, you wicked little Fox?' And the eldest little
Fox said 'Whihuauch!' And then Bruno saw there was
only its mouth in the hamper! So he took the mouth, and
he opened it, and shook, and shook! And at last he shook
the little Fox out of its own mouth! And then he said
'Open your mouth again, you wicked little thing!' And
he shook, and shook! And he shook out the second little
Fox! And he said 'Now open your mouth!' And he shook,
and shook! And he shook out the youngest little Fox,
and all the Apples, and all the Bread!
"And then Bruno stood the little Foxes up against the
wall : and he made them a little speech. 'Now, little Foxes,
you've begun very wickedly — and you'll have to be pun-
ished. First you'll go up to the nursery, and wash your
faces, and put on clean pinafores. Then you'll hear the
bell ring for supper. Then you'll come down: and you
tvont Jiave any supper: but you'll have a good whipping!
Then you'll go to bed. Then in the morning you'll hear
THE LITTLE FOXES 659
the bell ring for breakfast. But you wont have any break-
fast! You'll have a good whipping! Then you'll have your
lessons. And, perhaps, if you're very good, w^hen dinner-
time comes, you'll have a little dinner, and no more
whipping!'" ("How^ very kind he was!" I whispered to
Bruno. ''Middling kind," Bruno corrected me gravely.)
"So the little Foxes ran up to the nursery. And soon
Bruno went into the hall, and rang the big bell. 'Tingle,
tingle, tingle! Supper, supper, supper!' Down came the
little Foxes, in such a hurry for their supper! Clean pina-
fores? Spoons in their hands! And, when they got into
the dining-room, there was ever such a white table-cloth
on the table! But there was nothing on it but a big whip.
And they had such a whipping!" (I put my handkerchief
to my eyes, and Bruno hastily climbed upon my knee
and stroked my face. "Only one more whipping. Mister
Sir!" he whispered. "Don't cry more than 00 ca'n't help!")
"And the next morning early, Bruno rang the big bell
again. 'Tingle, tingle, tingle! Breakfast, breakfast, break-
fast!' Down came the little Foxes! Clean pinafores!
Spoons in their hands! No breakfast! Only the big whip!
Then came lessons," Sylvie hurried on, for I still had my
handkerchief to my eyes. "And the little Foxes were ever
so good! And they learned their lessons backwards, and
forwards, and upside-down. And at last Bruno rang the
big bell again. 'Tingle, tingle, tingle! Dinner, dinner,
dinner!' And when the little Foxes came down — " ("Had
they clean pinafores on?" Bruno enquired. "Of course!"
said Sylvie. "And spoons?" "Why, you hjiow they had!"
"Couldn't be certain^' said Bruno.) " — they came as slow
as slow! And they said 'Oh! There'll be no dinner!
There'll only be the big whip!' But, when they got into
the room, they saw the most lovely dinner!" ("Buns?"
cried Bruno, clapping his hands.) "Buns, and cake, and
66o SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
— " (" — and jam?" said Bruno.) "Yes, jam — and soup —
and — " (" — and sugar plums T Bruno put in once more;
and Sylvie seemed satisfied.)
"And ever after that, they were such good Uttle Foxes!
They did their lessons as good as gold — and they never
did what Bruno told them not to — and they never ate
each other any more — and they never ate them selves!''
The story came to an end so suddenly, it almost took
my breath away ; however I did my best to make a pretty
speech of thanks. "I'm sure it's very — very — very much so,
I'm sure!" I seemed to hear myself say.
Chapter XVI
Beyond These Voices
^'I didn't quite catch what you said!" were the next
words that reached my ear, but certainly not in the voice
either of Sylvie or of Bruno, whom I could just see,
through the crowd of guests, standing by the piano, and
listening to the Count's song. Mein Herr was the speaker.
"I didn't quite catch what you said!" he repeated. "But
I've no doubt you take m,y view of it. Thank you very
much for your kind attention. There is only but one verse
left to be sung!" These last words were not in the gentle
voice of Mein Herr, but in the deep bass of the French
Count. And, in the silence that followed, the final stanza
of "Tottles" rang through the room.
See now this couple settled down
In quiet lodgings, out of town:
BEYOND THESE VOICES 66l
Submissively the tearful wife
Accepts a plain and humble life:
Yet begs one boon on bended \nee:
"My due f{y 'darling, don't resent it!
Mamma might come for two or three — "
"NEVERr yelled Tottles, And he meant it.
The conclusion of the song was followed by quite a
chorus of thanks and compliments from all parts of the
room, which the gratified singer responded to by bowing
low in all directions. "It is to me a great privilege," he
said to Lady Muriel, "to have met with this so marvellous
a song. The accompaniment to him is so strange, so mys-
terious: it is as if a new music were to be invented! I
will play him once again so as that to show you what I
mean." He returned to the piano, but the song had
vanished.
The bewildered singer searched through the heap of
music lying on an adjoining table, but it was not there,
either. Lady Muriel helped in the search: others soon
joined: the excitement grew. "What can have become of
it.^" exclaimed Lady Muriel. Nobody knew: one thing
only was certain, that no one had been near the piano
since the Count had sung the last verse of the song.
"Nevare mind him!" he said, most good-naturedly. "I
shall give it you with memory alone!" He sat down, and
began vaguely fingering the notes; but nothing re-
sembling the tune came out. Then he, too, grew excited.
"But what oddness! How much of singularity! That I
might lose, not the words alone, but the tune also — that
is quite curious, I suppose?"
We all supposed it, heartily.
"It was that sweet little boy, who found it for me," the
Count suggested. "Quite perhaps he is the thief?"
662 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
V
"Of course he is!" cried Lady Muriel. "Bruno! Where
are you, my darUng?"
But no Bruno repUed: it seemed that the two children
had vanished as suddenly, and as mysteriously, as the
song.
"They are playing us a trick?" Lady Muriel gaily ex-
claimed. "This is only an ex tempore game of Hide-and-
Seek! That little Bruno is an embodied Mischief!"
The suggestion was a welcome one to most of us, for
some of the guests were beginning to look decidedly un-
easy. A general search was set on foot with much en-
thusiasm: curtains were thrown back and shaken, cup-
boards opened,. and ottomans turned over; but the num-
ber of possible hiding-places proved to be strictly limited;
and the search came to an end almost as soon as it had
begun.
"They must have run out, while we were wrapped up
in the song," Lady Muriel said, addressing herself to the
Count, who seemed more agitated than the others; "and
no doubt they've found their way back to the house-
keeper's room."
"Not by this door!" was the earnest protest of a knot
of two or three gentlemen, who had been grouped round
the door (one of them actually leaning against it) for the
last half-hour, as they declared. ''This door has not been
opened since the song began!"
An uncomfortable silence followed this announcement.
Lady Muriel ventured no further conjectures, but quietly
examined the fastenings of the windows, which opened as
doors. They all proved to be well fastened, inside.
Not yet at the end of her resources, Lady Muriel rang
the bell. "Ask the housekeeper to step here," she said, "and
to bring the children's walking-things with her."
BEYOND THESE VOICES 663
"Pve brought them, my Lady/' said the obsequious
housekeeper, entering after another minute of silence.
"I thought the young lady would have come to my room
to put on her boots. Here's your boots, my love!" she
added cheerfully, looking in all directions for the chil-
dren. There was no answer, and she turned to Lady
Muriel with a puzzled smile. "Have the Uttle darhngs
hid themselves?"
"I don't see them, just now," Lady Muriel replied,
rather evasively. "You can leave their things here, Wilson.
I'll dress them, when they're ready to go."
The two little hats, and Sylvie's walking-jacket, were
handed round among the ladies, with many exclama-
tions of delight. There certainly was a sort of witchery
of beauty about them. Even the little boots did not miss
their share of favorable criticism. "Such natty little
things!" the musical young lady exclaimed, almost
fondling them as she spoke. "And what tiny tiny feet they
must have!"
Finally, the things were piled together on the centre-
ottoman, and the guests, despairing of seeing the children
again, began to wish good-night and leave the house.
There were only some eight or nine left — to whom the
Count was explaining, for the twentieth time, how he had
had his eye on the children during the last verse of the
song; how he had then glanced round the room, to see
what effect "de great chest-note" had had upon his audi-
ence; and how, when he looked back again, they had both
disappeared — when exclamations of dismay began to be
heard on all sides, the Count hastily bringing his story
to an end to join in the outcry.
The walking-things had all disappeared!
After the utter failure of the search for the children^
664 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
there was a very half-hearted search made for their ap-
parel. The remaining guests seemed only too glad to get
away, leaving only the Count and our four selves.
The Count sank into an easy-chair, and panted a little.
"Who then are these dear children, I pray you?" he
said. "Why come they, why go they, in this so little ordi-
nary a fashion? That the music should make itself to
vanish — that the hats, the boots, should make themselves
to vanish — how is it, I pray you?"
"I've no idea where they are!" was all I could say, on
finding myself appealed to, by general consent, for an
explanation.
The Count seemed about to ask further questions, but
checked himself.
"The hour makes himself to become late," he said. "I
wish to you a very good night, my Lady. I betake myself
to my bed — to dream — if that indeed I be not dreaming
now!" And he hastily left the room.
"Stay awhile, stay awhile!" said the Earl, as I was about
to follow the Count. ''You are not a guest, you know!
Arthur's friend is at home here!"
"Thanks!" I said, as with true English instincts, we
drew our chairs together round the fire-place, though no
fire was burning — Lady Muriel having taken the heap of
music on her knee, to have one more search for the
strangely-vanished song.
"Don't you sometimes feel a wild longing," she said,
addressing herself to me, "to have something more to do
with your hands, while you talk, than just holding a
cigar, and now and then knocking off the ash? Oh, I
know all that you're going to say!" (This was to Arthur,
who appeared about to interrupt her.) "The Majesty of
Thought supersedes the work of the fingers. A Man's
severe thinking, plus the shaking-oflF a cigar-ash, comes to
BEYOND THESE VOICES 665
the same total as a Woman's trivial fancies, plus the most
elaborate embroidery. That's your sentiment, isn't it, only
better expressed?"
Arthur looked into the radiant, mischievous face, with
a grave and very tender smile. "Yes," he said resignedly:
"that is my sentiment, exactly."
"Rest of body, and activity of mind," I put in. "Som^
writer tells us that is the acme of human happiness."
"Plenty of bodily rest, at any rate!" Lady Muriel re
plied, glancing at the three recumbent figures around her.
"But what you call activity of mind — "
" — is the privilege of young Physicians only^' said the
Earl. "We old men have no claim to be active! What can
an old man do but die?''
"A good many other things, I should hope^' Arthur
said earnestly.
"Well, maybe. Still you have the advantage of me in
many ways, dear boy! Not only that your day is dawning
while Tnine is setting, but your interest in Life — somehow
I ca'n't help envying you that. It will be many a year be-
fore you lose your hold of thatr
"Yet surely many human interests survive human
Life?" I said.
"Many do, no doubt. And some forms of Science; but
only some, I think. Mathematics, for instance: that seems
to possess an endless interest: one ca'n't imagine any
form of Life, or any race of intelligent beings, where
Mathematical truth would lose its meaning. But I fear
Medicine stands on a different footing. Suppose you dis-
cover a remedy for some disease hitherto supposed to be
incurable. Well, it is delightful for the moment, no doubt
— full of interest — perhaps it brings you fame and for-
tune. But what then? Look on, a few years, into a life
where disease has no existence. What is your discovery
666 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
worth, tJien? Milton makes Jove promise too much. 'Of
so much fame in heaven expect thy meed' Poor comfort
when one's *fame' concerns matters that will have ceased
to have a meaning!"
"At any rate one wouldn't care to make any fresh
medical discoveries," said Arthur. "I see no help for that
— though I shall be sorry to give up my favorite studies.
Still, medicine, disease, pain, sorrow, sin — I fear they're
all linked together. Banish sin, and you banish them all!"
''Military science is a yet stronger instance," said the
Earl. "Without sin, war would surely be impossible. Still
any mind, that has had in this life any keen interest, not
in itself sinful, will surely find itself some congenial line
of work hereafter. Wellington may have no more battles
to fight — and yet —
'We doubt not that, for one so true,
There must be other, nobler wor\ to do.
Than when he fought at Waterloo,
And Victor he must ever be!' "
He lingered over the beautiful words, as if he loved
them: and his voice, like distant music, died away into
silence.
After a minute or two he began again. "If I'm not
wearying you, I would like to tell you an idea of the fu-
ture Life which has haunted me for years, like a sort of
waking nightmare — I ca'n't reason myself out of it."
"Pray do," Arthur and I replied, almost in a breath.
Lady Muriel put aside the heap of music, and folded her
hands together.
"The one idea," the Earl resumed, "that has seemed to
me to overshadow all the rest, is that of Eternity — involv-
ing, as it seems to do, the necessary exhaustion of all sub-
BEYOND THESE VOICES 667
jects of human interest. Take Pure Mathematics, for in-
stance— a Science independent of our present surround-
ings. I have studied it, myself, a little. Take the subject of
circles and ellipses — what we call 'curves of the second de-
gree.' In a future Life, it would only be a question of so
many years (or hundreds of years, if you like), for a man
to work out all their properties. Then he might go to
curves of the third degree. Say that took ten times as long
(you see we have unlimited time to deal with). I can
hardly imagine his interest in the subject holding out
even for those; and, though there is no limit to the degree
of the curves he might study, yet surely the time, needed
to exhaust all the novelty and interest of the subject,
would be absolutely finite? And so of all other branches of
Science. And, when I transport myself, in thought,
through some thousands or millions of years, and fancy
myself possessed of as much Science as one created reason
can carry, I ask myself 'What then? With nothing more
to learn, can one rest content on \nowledge^ for the eter-
nity yet to be lived through?' It has been a very wearying
thought to me. I have sometimes fancied one mighty in
that event, say 'It is better not to be,' and pray for per-
sonal annihilation — the Nirvana of the Buddhists."
"But that is only half the picture," I said. "Besides work-
ing for oneself^ may there not be the helping of others?''
"Surely, surely!" Lady Muriel exclaimed in a tone of
relief, losoking at her father with sparkling eyes.
"Yes," said the Earl, "so long as there were any others
needing help. But, given ages and ages more, surely all
created reasons would at length reach the same dead level
of satiety. And then what is there to look forward to?"
"I know that weary feeling," said the young Doctor.
"I have gone through it all, more than once. Now let me
tell you how I have put it to myself. I have imagined a
668 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
•
little child, playing with toys on his nursery-floor, and yet
able to reason^ and to look on, thirty years ahead. Might
he not say to himself 'By that time I shall have had
enough of bricks and ninepins. How weary Life will be!'
Yet, if we look forward through those thirty years, we find
him a great statesman, full of interests and joys far more
intense than his baby-life could give — joys wholly incon-
ceivable to his baby-mind — joys such as no baby-language
could in the faintest degree describe. Now, may not our
life, a million years hence, have the same relation, to our
life now, that the man's life has to the child's? And, just
as one might try, all in vain, to express to that child, in the
language of bricks and ninepins, the meaning of 'poli-
tics,' so perhaps all those descriptions of Heaven, with its
music, and its feasts, and its streets of gold, may be only
attempts to describe, in our words, things for which we
really have no words at all. Don't you think that, in your
picture of another life, you are in fact transplanting that
child into political life, without making any allowance
for his growing up?"
"I think I understand you," said the Earl. "The music
of Heaven may be something beyond our powers of
thought. Yet the music of Earth is sweet! Muriel, my
child, sing us something before we go to bed!"
"Do," said Arthur, as he rose and lit the candles on the
cottage-piano, lately banished from the drawing-room to
make room for a "semi-grand." "There is a song here,
that I have never heard you sing.
*Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart!' "
TO THE rescue! 669
he read from the page he had spread open before her.
"And our Uttle hfe here," the Earl went on, "is, to that
grand time, like a child's summer-day! One gets tired as
night draws on," he added, with a touch of sadness in his
voice, "and one gets to long for bed! For those welcome
words *Come, child, 'tis bed-time!' "
Chapter XVII
To the Rescue!
"It isnt bed-time!" said a sleepy little voice. "The owls
hasn't gone to bed, and I s'a'n't go to seep wizout 00
sings to me!"
"Oh, Bruno!" cried Sylvie. "Don't you know the owls
have only just got up? But the frogs have gone to bed,
ages ago."
"Well, / aren't a frog," said Bruno.
"What shall I sing?" said Sylvie, skilfully avoiding the
argument.
"Ask Mister Sir," Bruno lazily replied, clasping his
hands behind his curly head, and lying back on his fern-
leaf, till it almost bent over with his weight. "This aren't
a comfable leaf, Sylvie. Find me a comf abler — please!" he
added, as an after-thought, in obedience to a warning fin-
ger held up by Sylvie. "I doosn't like being feet-upwards!"
It was a pretty sight to see — the motherly way in which
the fairy-child gathered up her little brother in her arms,
and laid him on a stronger leaf. She gave it just a touch to
set it rocking, and it went on vigorously by itself, as if it
670 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
contained some hidden machinery. It certainly wasn't the
wind, for the evening-breeze had quite died away again,
and not a leaf was stirring over our heads.
"Why does that one leaf rock so, without the others?" I
asked Sylvie. She only smiled sweetly and shook her head.
"I don't know why,'' she said. "It always does, if it's got a
fairy-child on it. It has to, you know."
"And can people see the leaf rock, who ca'n't see the
Fairv on it?"
"Why, of course!" cried Sylvie. "A leaf's a leaf, and
everybody can see it; but Bruno's Bruno, and they ca'n't
see hiniy unless they're eerie, like you."
Then I understood how it was that one sometimes sees
—going through the woods in a still evening — one fern-
leaf rocking steadily on, all by itself. Haven't you ever
seen that? Try if you can see the fairy-sleeper on it, next
time; but don't pic\ the leaf, whatever you do; let the
little one sleep on!
But all this time Bruno was getting sleepier and sleep-
ier. "Sing, sing!" he murmured fretfully. Sylvie looked to
me for instructions. "What shall it be?" she said.
"Could you sing him the nursery-song you once told me
of?" I suggested. "The one that had been put through
the mind-mangle, you know. ^The little man that had a
little gun,' I think it was."
"Why, that are one of the Professor s songs!" cried
Bruno. "I likes the little man; and I likes the way they
spinned him — like a teetle-totle-tum." And he turned a
loving look on the gentle old man who was sitting at the
other side of his leaf-bed, and who instantly began to sing,
accompanying himself on his Outlandish guitar, while
the snail, on which he sat, waved its horns in time to the
music.
TO THE rescue! 67I
In stature the M unlet was dwarfish —
No burly big Blunderbore he:
And he wearily gazed on the crawfish
His Wifelet had dressed for his tea.
*'Now reach me, sweet Atom, my gunlet.
And hurl the old shoelet for luc\:
Let me hie to the ban\ of the runlet,
And shoot thee a Duc\!"
She has reached him his mini\in gunlet:
She has hurled the old shoelet for luc\:
She is busily baling a bunlet.
To welcome him home with his Duc\,
On he speeds, never wasting a wordlet.
Though thoughtlets cling, closely as wax,
To the spot where the beautiful birdlet
So quietly quac\s.
Where the Lobsterlet lurJ{s, and the Crablet
So slowly and sleepily crawls:
Where the Dolphin s at home, and the Dablet
Pays long ceremonious calls:
Where the Grublet is sought by the Froglet:
Where the Frog is pursued by the Duc\:
Where the Duc}{let is chased by the Doglet —
So runs the world's luc/{!
He has loaded with bullet and powder:
His footfall is noiseless as air:
But the Voices grow louder and louder,
And bellow, and bluster, and blare.
They bristle before him and after.
They flutter above and below.
Shrill shrie\ings of lubberly laughter.
Weird wailings of woe!
672 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
They echo without him, within him:
They thrill through his whis\ers and beard:
Lil^e a teetotum seeming to spin him,
With sneers never hitherto sneered.
*' Avengement^' they cry, *'on our Foelet!
Let the Manikin weep for our wrongs!
Let us drench him, from toplet to toelet,
With Nursery-Songs!
"He shall muse upon 'Hey! Diddle! Diddle!'
On the Cow that surmounted the Moon:
He shall rave of the Cat and the Fiddle,
And the Dish that eloped with the Spoon:
And his soul shall be sad for the Spider,
When Miss Muffet was sipping her whey.
That so tenderly sat down beside her,
And scared her away!
*'The music of Midsummer-madness
Shall sting him with many a bite.
Till, in rapture of rollicking sadness,
He shall groan with a gloomy delight:
He shall swathe him, li\e mists of the morning.
In platitudes luscious and limp.
Such as dec\, with a deathless adorning,
The Song of the Shrimp!
''When the Duc\let's dar\ doom is decided,
We will trundle him home in a trice:
And the banquet, so plainly provided.
Shall round into rose-buds and rice:
In a blaze of pragmatic invention
He shall wrestle with Fate, and shall reign:
But he has not a friend fit to mention.
So hit him again!''
TO THE rescue! 673
He has shot it, the delicate darling!
And the Voices have ceased from their strife:
Not a whisper of sneering or snarling,
As he carries it home to his wife:
Then, cheerily champing the bunlet
His spouse was so s\ilful to ba\e,
He hies him once more to the runlet,
To fetch her the Dra\e!
'*He's sound asleep now," said Sylvie, carefully tucking
in the edge of a violet-leaf, which she had been spreading
over him as a sort of blanket: "good night!"
"Good night!" I echoed.
"You may well say 'good night'!" laughed Lady Mu-
riel, rising and shutting up the piano as she spoke. "When
you've been nid — nid — nodding all the time I've been
singing for your benefit! What was it all about, now.?"
she demanded imperiously.
"Something about a duck?" I hazarded. "Well, a bird
of some kind?" I corrected myself, perceiving at once
that that guess was wrong, at any rate.
''Something about a bird of some \indr Lady Muriel
repeated, with as much withering scorn as her sweet face
was capable of conveying. "And that's the way he speaks
of Shelley's Sky-Lark, is it? When the Poet particularly
says 'Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wertl' "
She led the way to the smoking-room, where, ignoring
all the usages of Society and all the instincts of Chivalry,
the three Lords of the Creation reposed at their ease in
low rocking-chairs, and permitted the one lady who was
present to glide gracefully about among us, supplying our
wants in the form of cooling drinks, cigarettes, and lights.
Nay, it was only one of the three who had the chivalry to
go beyond the common-place "thank you," and to quote
674 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
the Poet's exquisite description of how Geraint, when
waited on by Enid, was moved
"To stoop and \iss the tender little thumb
That crossed the platter as she laid it do tun'*
and to suit the action to the word — an audacious Hberty
for which, I feel bound to report, he was not duly re-
primanded. I
As no topic of conversation seemed to occur to any one,
and as we were, all four, on those delightful terms with
one another (the only terms, I think, on which any friend-
ship, that deserves the name of intimacy^ can be main-
tained) which involve no sort of necessity for speaking
for mere speaking's sake, we sat in silence for some
minutes.
At length I broke the silence by asking "Is there any
fresh news from the harbour about the Fever .?^"
"None since this morning," the Earl said, looking very
grave. "But that was alarming enough. The Fever is
spreading fast: the London doctor has taken fright and
left the place, and the only one now available isn't a reg-
ular doctor at all: he is apothecary, and doctor, and den-
tist, and I don't know what other trades, all in one. It's a
bad outlook for those poor fishermen — and a worse one
for all the women and children."
"How many are there of them altogether?" Arthur
asked.
"There were nearly one hundred, a week ago," said
the Earl: "but there have been twenty or thirty deaths
since then."
"And what religious ministrations are there to be had?"
"There are three brave men down there," the Earl re-
plied, his voice trembling with emotion, "gallant heroes as
TO THE rescue! 675
ever won the Victoria Cross! I am certain that no one o£
the three will ever leave the place merely to save his own
life. There's the Curate: his wife is with him: they have
no children. Then there's the Roman Catholic Priest. And
there's the Wesleyan Minister. They go amongst their
own flocks, mostly; but I'm told that those who are dying
like to have any of the three with them. How slight the
barriers seem to be that part Christian from Christian,
when one has to deal with the great facts of Life and the
reality of Death!"
"So it must be, and so it should be — " Arthur was be-
ginning, when the front-door bell rang, suddenly and
violently.
We heard the front-door hastily opened, and voices
outside: then a knock at the door of the smoking-room,
and the old house-keeper appeared, looking a little scared.
"Two persons, my Lord, to speak with Dr. Forester."
Arthur stepped outside at once, and we heard his cheery
"Well, my men?" but the answer was less audible, the
only words I could distinctly catch being "ten since morn-
ing, and two more just — "
"But there is a doctor there?" we heard Arthur say: and
a deep voice, that we had not heard before, replied "Dead,
Sir. Died three hours ago."
Lady Muriel shuddered, and hid her face in her hands :
but at this moment the front-door was quietly closed, and
we heard no more.
For a few minutes we sat quite silent : then the Earl left
the room, and soon returned to tell us that Arthur had
gone away with the two fishermen, leaving word that he
would be back in about an hour. And, true enough, at the
end of that interval — during which very little was said,
none of us seeming to have the heart to talk — the front-
door once more creaked on its rusty hinges, and a step was
676 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
heard in the passage, hardly to be recognised as Arthur's,
so slow and uncertain was it, like a blind man feeling his
way.
He came in, and stood before Lady Muriel, resting one
hand heavily on the table, and with a strange look in his
eyes, as if he were walking in his sleep.
"Muriel — my love — " he paused, and his lips quivered :
but after a minute he went on more steadily. "Muriel —
my darling — they — want me — down in the harbour."
''Must you go?" she pleaded, rising and laying her
hands on his shoulders, and looking up into his face with
her great eyes brimming over with tears. "Must you go,
Arthur? It may mean — death!"
He met her gaze without flinching. "It does mean
death," he said, in a husky whisper: "but — darling — I am
called. And even my life itself — " His voice failed him,
and he said no more.
For a minute she stood quite silent, looking upwards
with a helpless gaze, as if even prayer were now useless,
while her features worked and quivered with the great
agony she was enduring. Then a sudden inspiration
seemed to come upon her and light up her face with a
strange sweet smile. ''Your life?" she repeated. "It is not
yours to give!"
Arthur had recovered himself by this time, and could
reply quite firmly, "That is true," he said. "It is not mine
to give. It is yours, now, my — wife that is to be! And you
— do you forbid me to go? Will you not spare me, my
own beloved one?"
Still clinging to him, she laid her head softly on his
breast. She had never done such a thing in my presence
before, and I knew how deeply she must be moved. "I
will spare you," she said, calmly and quietly, "to God."
"And to God's poor," he whispered.
TO THE rescue! 677
"And to God's poor," she added. "When must it be,
sweet love?"
"To-morrow morning," he repUed. "And I have much
to do before then."
And then he told us how he had spent his hour of ab-
sence. He had been to the Vicarage, and had arranged for
the wedding to take place at eight the next morning
(there was no legal obstacle, as he had, some time before
this, obtained a Special License) in the little church we
knew so well. "My old friend here," indicating me, "will
act as *Best Man,' I know: your father will be there to
give you away : and — and — you will dispense with bride's-
maids, my darling?"
She nodded : no words came.
"And then I can go with a willing heart — to do God's
work — knowing that we are one — and that we are to-
gether in spirit^ though not in bodily presence — and are
most of all together when we pray! Our prayers will go
up together — "
"Yes, yes!" sobbed Lady Muriel. "But you must not
stay longer now, my darling! Go home and take some
rest. You will need all your strength to-morrow — "
"Well, I will go," said Arthur. "We will be here in
good time to-morrow. Good night, my own own darling!"
I followed his example, and we two left the house to-
gether. As we walked back to our lodgings, Arthur
sighed deeply once or twice, and seemed about to speak —
but no words came, till we had entered the house, and
had lit our candles, and were at our bedroom-doors. Then
Arthur said "Good night, old fellow! God bless you!"
"God bless you!" I echoed, from the very depths of my
heart.
We were back again at the Hall by eight in the morn-
ing, and found Lady Muriel and the Earl, and the old
678 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Vicar, waiting for us. It was a strangely sad and silent
party that walked up to the little church and back ; and I
could not help feeling that it was much more like a funer-
al than a wedding: to Lady Muriel it was in fact, a funer-
al rather than a wedding, so heavily did the presentiment
weigh upon her (as she told us afterwards) that her
newly-won husband was going forth to his death.
Then we had breakfast; and, all too soon, the vehicle
was at the door, which was to convey Arthur, first to his
lodgings, to pick up the things he was taking with him,
and then as far towards the death-stricken hamlet as it
was considered safe to go. One or two of the fishermen
were to meet him on the road, to carry his things the rest
of the way.
"And are you quite sure you are taking all that you will
need?" Lady Muriel asked.
"All that I shall need as a doctor, certainly. And my
own personal needs are few: I shall not even take any of
my own wardrobe — there is a fisherman's suit, ready-
made, that is waiting for me at my lodgings. I shall only
take my watch, and a few books, and — stay — there is one
book I should like to add, a pocket-Testament — to use at
the bedsides of the sick and dying — "
"Take mine!" said Lady Muriel: and she ran upstairs
to fetch it. "It has nothing written in it but 'Muriel,' " she
said as she returned with it: "shall I inscribe — "
"No, my own one," said Arthur, taking it from her.
"What could you inscribe better than that? Could any
human name mark it more clearly as my own individual
property? Are you not mine? Are you not," (with all
the old playfulness of manner) "as Bruno would say, 'my
very mine}''
He bade a long and loving adieu to the Earl and to me,
and left the room, accompanied only by his wife, who was
A NEWSPAPER-CUTTING 679
bearing up bravely, and was — outwardly^ at least — less
overcome than her old father. We waited in the room a
minute or two, till the sound of wheels had told us that
Arthur had driven away; and even then we waited still,
for the step of Lady Muriel, going upstairs to her room, to
die away in the distance. Her step, usually so light and
joyous, now sounded slow and weary, like one who plods
on under a load of hopeless misery; and I felt almost as
hopeless, and almost as wretched, as she. "Are we four
destined ever to meet again, on this side the grave?" I
asked myself, as I walked to my home. And the tolling of
a distant bell seemed to answer me, "No! No! No!"
Chapter XVIII
A Newspaper-Cutting
EXTRACT FROM THE 'TAYFIELD CHRONICLE.
ff
Our readers will have followed with painful interest, the
accounts we have from time to time published of the terrible
epidemic which has, during the last two months, carried
o-Q most of the inhabitants of the little fishing-harbour ad-
joining the village of Elveston. The last survivors, number-
ing twenty-three only, out of a population which, three short
months ago, exceeded one hundred and twenty, were re-
moved on Wednesday last, under the authority of the Local
Board, and safely lodged in the County Hospital: and the
place is now veritably *'a city of the dead," without a single
human voice to brea\ its silence.
The rescuing party consisted of six sturdy fellows — fisher-
men from the neighbourhood — directed by the resident
Physician of the Hospital, who came over for that purpose,
68o SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
heading a train of hospital-ambulances . The six men had
been selected — /rom a much larger number who had volun-
teered for this peace Jul "forlorn hope'' — for their strength
and robust health, as the expedition was considered to be,
even now, when the malady has expended its chief force, not
unattended with danger.
Every precaution that science could suggest, against the
risf^ of infection, was adopted: and the sufferers were tender-
ly carried on litters, one by one, up the steep hill, and
placed in the ambulances which, each provided with a hospi-
tal nurse, were waiting on the level road. The fifteen miles,
to the Hospital, were done at a walking-pace, as some of the
patients were in too prostrate a condition to bear jolting,
and the journey occupied the whole afternoon.
The twenty-three patients consist of nine men, six women,
and eight children. It has not been found possible to iden-
tify them all, as some of the children — left with no surviving
relatives — are infants: and two men and one woman are not
yet able to maJ^e rational replies, the brain-powers being en-
tirely in abeyance. Among a more well-to-do race, there
would no doubt have been names marked on the clothes;
but here no such evidence is forthcoming.
Besides the poor fishermen and their families, there were
but five persons to be accounted for: and it was ascertained,
beyond a doubt, that all five are numbered with the dead.
It is a melancholy pleasure to place on record the names of
these genuine martyrs — than whom none, surely, are more
worthy to be entered on the glory-roll of England's heroes!
They are as follows: —
The Rev. James Burgess, M.A., and Emma his wife. He
was the Curate at the Harbour, not thirty years old, and had
been married only two years. A written record was found
in their house, of the dates of their deaths.
Next to theirs we will place the honoured name of Dr.
Arthur Forester, who, on the death of the local physician,
nobly faced the imminent peril of death, rather than leave
these poor fol\ uncared for in their last extremity. No record
A NEWSPAPER-CUTTING 68l
of his name, or of the date of his death, was found: but the
corpse was easily identified, although dressed in the ordi-
nary fisherman s suit {which he was \nown to have adopted
when he went down there), by a copy of the New Testa-
ment, the gift of his wife, which was found, placed next his
heart, with his hands crossed over it. It was not thought
prudent to remove the body, for burial elsewhere: and ac-
cordingly it was at once committed to the ground, along
with four others found in different houses, with all due
reverence. His wife, whose maiden name was Lady Muriel
Orme, had been married to him on the very morning on
which he undertoo\ his self-sacrificing mission.
Next we record the Rev. Walter Saunders, Wesley an Min-
ister. His death is believed to have ta\en place two or three
wee\s ago, as the words ''Died October 5" were found writ-
ten on the wall of the room which he is \nown to have occu-
pied— the house being shut up, and apparently not having
been entered for some time.
hast — though not a whit behind the other four in glori-
ous self-denial and devotion to duty — let us record the name
of Father Francis, a young Jesuit Priest who had been only a
few m^onths in the place. He had not been dead many hours
when the exploring party came upon the body, which was
identified, beyond the possibility of doubt, by the dress, and
by the crucifix which was, li\e the young Doctor s Testa-
ment, clasped closely to his heart.
Since reaching the hospital, two of the men and one of
the children have died. Hope is entertained for all the
others: though there are two or three cases where the vital
powers seem to be so entirely exhausted that it is but "hop-
ing against hope" to regard ultimate recovery as even
possible.
Chapter XIX
A Fairy-Duet
The year — what an eventful year it had been for me! —
was drawing to a close, and the brief wintry day hardly
gave light enough to recognise the old familiar objects,
bound up with so many happy memories, as the train
glided round the last bend into the station, and the hoarse
cry of "Elveston! Elveston!" resounded along the plat-
form.
It was sad to return to the place, and to feel that I should
never again see the glad smile of welcome, that had await-
ed me here so few months ago. "And yet, if I were to find
him here," I muttered, as in solitary state I followed the
porter, who was wheeling my luggage on a barrow, "and
if he were to 'stride a sudden hand in mine, And as\ a
thousand things of homey I should not — no, 7 should not
feel it to be strange' T'
Having given directions to have my luggage taken to
my old lodgings, I strolled off alone, to pay a visit, before
settling down in my own quarters, to my dear old friends
— for such I indeed felt them to be, though it was barely
half a year since first we met — the Earl and his widowed
daughter.
The shortest way, as I well remembered, was to cross
through the churchyard. I pushed open the little wicket-
gate and slowly took my way among the solemn memor-
ials of the quiet dead, thinking of the many who had,
during the past year, disappeared from the place, and had
gone to "join the majority." A very few steps brought me
in sight of the object of my search. Lady Muriel, dressed
in the deepest mourning, her face hidden by a long crape
682
I
A FAIRY-DUET 683
veil, was kneeling before a little marble cross, round
which she was fastening a wreath of flowers.
The cross stood on a piece of level turf, unbroken by
any mound, and I knew that it was simply a memorial-
cross, for one whose dust reposed elsewhere, even before
reading the simple inscription : —
In loving Memory of
ARTHUR FORESTER, M.D.
whose mortal remains lie buried by the sea:
whose spirit has returned to God who gave it.
"greater love hath no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends."
She threw back her veil on seeing me approach, and
came forwards to meet me, with a quiet smile, and far
more self-possessed than I could have expected.
"It is quite like old times, seeing you here again!" she
said, in tones of genuine pleasure. "Have you been to see
my father?"
"No," I said: "I was on my way there, and came
through here as the shortest way. I hope he is well, and
you also?"
"Thanks, we are both quite well. And you? Are you
any better yet?"
"Not much better, I fear : but no worse, I am thankful
to say."
"Let us sit here awhile, and have a quiet chat," she
said. The calmness — almost indifference — of her manner
quite took me by surprise. I little guessed what a fierce
restraint she was putting upon herself.
"One can be so quiet here," she resumed. "I come here
every — every day."
684 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"It is very peaceful," I said.
"You got my letter?"
"Yes, but I delayed writing. It is so hard to say — on |
paper — "
"I know. It was kind of vou. You were with us when
we saw the last of — " She paused a moment, and went on
more hurriedly. "I went down to the harbour several
times, but no one knows which of those vast graves it is.
However, they showed me the house he died in : that was
some comfort. I stood in the very room where — where — ."
She struggled in vain to go on. The flood-gates had given
way at last, and the outburst of grief was the most ter-
rible I had ever witnessed. Totally regardless of my pres-
ence, she flung herself down on the turf, burying her face
in the grass, and with her hands clasped round the little
marble cross, "Oh, my darling, my darling!" she sobbed.
"And God meant your life to be so beautiful!"
I was startled to hear, thus repeated by Lady Muriel, the
very words of the darling child whom I had seen weeping
so bitterly over the dead hare. Had some mysterious in-
fluence passed, from that sweet fairy-spirit, ere she went
back to Fairyland, into the human spirit that loved her
so dearly? The idea seemed too wild for belief. And yet,
are there not ''more things in heaven and earth than are
dreamt of in our philosophy'?
"God meant it to be beautiful," I whispered, "and sure-
ly it was beautiful? God's purpose never fails!" I dared
say no more, but rose and left her. At the entrance-gate to
the Earl's house I waited, leaning on the gate and watch-
ing the sun set, revolving many memories — some happy,
some sorrowful — until Lady Muriel joined me.
She was quite calm again now. "Do come in," she said.
"My father will be so pleased to see you!"
The old man rose from his chair, with a smile, to wel-
A FAIRY-DUET 685
come me; but his self-command was far less than his
daughter's, and the tears coursed down his face as he
grasped both my hands in his, and pressed them warmly.
My heart was too full to speak; and we all sat silent for
a minute or two. Then Lady Muriel rang the bell for tea.
"You do take five o'clock tea, I know!" she said to me,
with the sweet playfulness of manner I remembered so
well, "even though you cant work your wicked will on
the Law of Gravity, and make the teacups descend into
Infinite Space, a little faster than the tea!"
This remark gave the tone to our conversation. By a
tacit mutual consent, we avoided, during this our first
meeting after her great sorrow, the painful topics that
filled our thoughts, and talked like light-hearted children
who had never known a care.
"Did you ever ask yourself the question," Lady Muriel
began, a propos of nothing, "what is the chief advantage
of being a Man instead of a Dog?"
"No, indeed," I said: "but I think there are advantages
on the Dogs side of the question as well.
"No doubt," she replied, with that pretty mock-gravity
that became her so well: "but, on Man's side, the chief
advantage seems to me to consist in having poc\ets! It
was borne in upon me — upon us^ I should say; for my
father and I were returning from a walk — only yesterday.
We met a dog carrying home a bone. What it wanted it
for, I've no idea : certainly there was no meat on it — "
A strange sensation came over me, that I had heard all
this, or something exactly like it, before: and I almost
expected her next words to be "perhaps he meant to make
a cloak for the winter?" However what she really said
was "and my father tried to account for it by some
wretched joke about pro bono publico. Well, the dog laid
down the bone — not in disgust with the pun, which
686 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
would have shown it to be a dog of taste — ^but simply to
rest its jaws, poor thing! I did pity it so! Won't you join
my Charitable Association for supplying dogs with poc-
\ets? How would you like to have to carry your walking-
stick in your mouth?"
Ignoring the difficult question as to the raison d'etre
of a walking-stick, supposing one had no hands^ I men-
tioned a curious instance, I had once witnessed, of rea-
soning by a dog. A gentleman, with a lady, and child, and
a large dog, were down at the end of a pier on which I
was walking. To amuse his child, I suppose, the gentle-
man put down on the ground his umbrella and the lady's
parasol, and then led the way to the other end of the pier,
from which he sent the dog back for the deserted articles.
I was watching with some curiosity. The dog came racing
back to where I stood, but found an unexpected difficulty
in picking up the things it had come for. With the um-
brella in its mouth, its jaws were so far apart that it could
get no firm grip on the parasol. After two or three fail-
ures, it paused and considered the matter.
Then it put down the umbrella and began with the par-
asol. Of course that didn't open its jaws nearly so wide,
and it was able to get a good hold of the umbrella, and
galloped off in triumph. One couldn't doubt that it had
gone through a real train of logical thought.
"I entirely agree with you," said Lady Muriel: "but
don't orthodox writers condemn that view, as putting
Man on the level of the lower animals ? Don't they draw
a sharp boundary-line between Reason and Instinct?"
"That certainly was the orthodox view, a generation
ago," said the Earl. "The truth of Religion seemed ready
to stand or fall with the assertion that Man was the only
reasoning animal. But that is at an end now. Man can
still claim certain monopolies — for instance, such a use
A FAIRY-DUET 687
of language as enables us to utilise the work of many, by
'division of labour.' But the belief, that we have a monop-
oly of Reason, has long been swept away. Yet no catas-
trophe has followed. As some old poet says, 'God is where
he was'
> ?>
"Most religious believers would now agree with Bishop
Butler," said I, "and not reject a line of argument, even
if it led straight to the conclusion that animals have some
kind of soul, which survives their bodily death."
"I would like to know that to be tiue!" Lady Muriel
exclaimed. "If only for the sake of the poor horses. Some-
times I've thought that, if anything could make me cease
to believe in a God of perfect justice, it would be the suf-
ferings of horses — without guilt to deserve it, and without
any compensation!"
"It is only part of the great Riddle," said the Earl, "why
innocent beings ever suflfer. It is a great strain on Faith —
but not a breaking strain, I think."
"The sufferings of horses^' I said, "are chiefly caused
by Mans cruelty. So that is merely one of the many in-
stances of Sin causing suffering to others than the Sinner
himself. But don't you find a greater difficulty in suffer-
ings inflicted by animals upon each other ? For instance, a
cat playing with a mouse. Assuming it to have no moral
responsibility, isn't that a greater mystery than a man
over-driving a horse?"
"I think it /V," said Lady Muriel, looking a mute appeal
to her father.
"What right have we to make that assumption?" said
the Earl. ''Many of our religious difficulties are merely de-
ductions from unwarranted assumptions. The wisest an-
swer to most of them, is, I think, 'behold, we \now not
anything' "
"You mentioned 'division of labour,' just now," I said.
688 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"Surely it is carried to a wonderful perfection in a hive of
bees?"
"So wonderful — so entirely super-human — " said the
Earl, "and so entirely inconsistent with the intelligence
they show in other ways — that I feel no doubt at all that
it is pure Instinct, and not^ as some hold, a very high or-
der of Reason. Look at the utter stupidity of a bee, trying
to find its way out of an open window! It doesnt try, in
any reasonable sense of the word: it simply bangs itself
about! We should call a puppy imbecile, that behaved so.
And yet we are asked to believe that its intellectual level is
above Sir Isaac Newton!"
"Then you hold that pure Instinct contains no Reason
at all?"
"On the contrary," said the Earl, "I hold that the work
of a bee-hive involves Reason of the highest order. But
none of it is done by the Bee. God has reasoned it all out,
and has put into the mind of the Bee the conclusions^ only,
of the reasoning process."
"But how do their minds come to work together?'' I
asked.
"What right have we to assume that they ^ave minds?"
"Special pleading, special pleading!" Lady Muriel cried,
in a most unfilial tone of triumph. "Why, you yourself
said, just now, 'the mind of the Bee'!"
"But I did not say 'minds^ my child," the Earl gently
replied. "It has occurred to me, as the most probable solu-
tion of the *Bee'-mystery, that a swarm of Bees have only
one mind among them. We often see one mind animating
a most complex collection of limbs and organs, when
joined together. How do we know that any material con-
nection is necessary? May not mere neighbourhood be
enough ? If so, a swarm of bees is simply a single animal
whose many limbs are not quite close together!"
A FAIRY-DUET 689
"It is a bewildering thought," I said, "and needs a
night's rest to grasp it properly. Reason and Instinct both
tdl me I ought to go home. So, good-night!"
"I'll *set' you part of the way," said Lady Muriel. "I've
had no walk to-day. It will do me good, and I have more
to say to you. Shall we go through the wood? It will be
pleasanter than over the common, even though it is get-
ting a little dark."
We turned aside into the shade of interlacing boughs,
which formed an architecture of almost perfect symmetry,
grouped into lovely groined arches, or running out, far as
the eye could follow, into endless aisles, and chancels,
and naves, like some ghostly cathedral, fashioned out of
the dream of a moon-struck poet.
"Always, in this wood," she began after a pause
(silence seemed natural in this dim solitude), "I begin
thinking of Fairies! May I ask you a question?" she
added hesitatingly. "Do you believe in Fairies?"
The momentary impulse was so strong to tell her of
my experiences in this very wood, that I had to make a
real effort to keep back the words that rushed to my
lips. "If you mean, by ^believe,' 'believe in their possible
existence,' I say *Yes.' For their actual existence^ of course^
one would need evidenced
"You were saying, the other day," she went on, "that
you would accept anything^ on good evidence, that was
not a priori impossible. And I think you named Ghosts
as an instance of a provable phenomenon. Would Fairies
be another instance?"
"Yes, I think so." And again it was hard to check the
wish to say more : but I was not yet sure of a sympathetic
listener.
"And have you any theory as to what sort of place
they would occupy in Creation? Do tell me what you
690 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
think about them! Would they, for instance (supposing
such beings to exist), would they have any moral re-
sponsibility? I mean" (and the light bantering tone sud-
denly changed to one o£ deep seriousness) "would they
be capable of sin?''
"They can reason — on a lower level, perhaps, than men
and women — never rising, I think, above the faculties of
a child; and they have a moral sense, most surely. Such
a being, without free will, would be an absurdity. So I
am driven to the conclusion that they are capable of sin."
"You believe in them?" she cried delightedly, with a
sudden motion as if about to clap her hands. "Now tell
me, have you any reason for it?"
And still I strove to keep back the revelation I felt
sure was coming. "I believe that there is life everywhere
— not material only, not merely what is palpable to our
senses — but immaterial and invisible as well. We believe
in our own immaterial essence — call it 'soul,' or 'spirit,'
or what you will. Why should not other similar essences
exist around us, not linked on to a visible and material
body? Did not God make this swarm of happy insects,
to dance in this sunbeam for one hour of bliss, for no
other object, that we can imagine, than to swell the sum
of conscious happiness? And where shall we dare to
draw the line, and say 'He has made all these and no
more :
"Yes, yes!" she assented, watching me with sparkling
eyes. "But these are only reasons for not denying. You
have more reasons than this, have you not?"
"Well, yes," I said, feeling I might safely tell all now.
"And I could not find a fitter time or place to say it. I
have seen them — and in this very wood!''
Lady Muriel asked no more questions. Silently she
paced at my side, with head bowed down and hands
A FAIRY-DUET 69I
clasped tightly together. Only, as my tale went on, she
drew a little short quick breath now and then, like a
child panting with delight. And I told her what I had
never yet breathed to any other listener, of my double
life, and, more than that (for mine might have been but
a noonday-dream), of the double life of those two dear
children.
And when I told her of Bruno's wild gambols, she
laughed merrily; and when I spoke of Sylvie's sweet-
ness and her utter unselfishness and trustful love, she
drew a deep breath, like one who hears at last some
precious tidings for which the heart has ached for a long
while; and the happy tears chased one another down her
cheeks.
"I have often longed to meet an angel," she whispered,
so low that I could hardly catch the words* "I'm so glad
I've seen Sylvie! My heart went out to the child the first
moment that I saw her — Listen!" she broke off suddenly.
"That's Sylvie singing! I'm sure of it! Don't you know
her voice .f^"
"I have heard Bruno sing, more than once," I said:
"but I never heard Sylvie."
"I have only heard her once^' said Lady Muriel. "It was
that day when you brought us those mysterious flowers.
The children had run out into the garden; and I saw
Eric coming in that way, and went to the window to
meet him: and Sylvie was singing, under the trees, a
song I had never heard before. The words were some-
thing like 'I think it is Love, I feel it is Love.' Her voice
sounded far away, like a dream, but it was beautiful
beyond all words — as sweet as an infant's first smile, or
the first gleam of the white cliffs when one is coming
home after weary years — a voice that seemed to fill one's
whole being with peace and heavenly thoughts — Listen!"
692 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
she cried, breaking off again in her excitement. "That is
her voice, and that's the very song!"
I could distinguish no words, but there was a dreamy
sense of music in the air that seemed to grow ever louder
and louder, as i£ coming nearer to us. We stood quite
silent, and in another minute the two children appeared,
coming straight towards us through an arched opening
among the trees. Each had an arm round the other, and
the setting sun shed a golden halo round their heads,
like what one sees in pictures of saints. They were look-
ing in our direction, but evidently did not see us, and I
soon made out that Lady Muriel had for once passed
into a condition familiar to me^ that we were both of
us "eerie", and that, though we could see the children so
plainly, we were quite invisible to them.
The song ceased just as they came into sight: but, to
my delight, Bruno instantly said "Let's sing it all again,
Sylvie! It did sound so pretty!" And Sylvie replied "Very
well. It's you to begin, you know."
So Bruno began, in the sweet childish treble I knew
so well: —
''Say, what is the spell, when her fledgelings are eheeping.
That lures the bird home to her nest?
Or wa\es the tired mother, whose infant is weeping.
To cuddle and croon it to rest?
What's the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms,
Till it cooes with the voice of the dove?"
And now ensued quite the strangest of all the strange
experiences that marked the wonderful year whose history
I am writing — the experience of first hearing Sylvie's
voice in song. Her part was a very short one — only a
few words — and she sang it timidly, and very low indeed,
A FAIRY-DUET 693
scarcely audibly, but the sweetness of her voice was simply
indescribable; I have never heard any earthly music like it.
Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low-
And the name of the secret is Love!'*
On me the first effect of her voice was a sudden sharp
pang that seemed to pierce through one's very heart. (I
had felt such a pang only once before in my life, and it
had been from seeing what, at the moment, realised one's
idea of perfect beauty — it was in a London exhibition,
where, in making my way through a crowd, I suddenly
met, face to face, a child of quite unearthly beauty.) Then
came a rush of burning tears to the eyes, as though one
could weep one's soul away for pure delight. And lastly
there fell on me a sense of awe that was almost terror —
some such feeling as Moses must have had when he
heard the words ''Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for
the place whereon thou standest is holy grounds The
figures of the children became vague and shadowy, like
glimmering meteors: while their voices rang together in
exquisite harmony as they sang: —
*'For I thin\ it is Love,
For I feel it is Love,
For Vm sure it is nothing but Love!''
By this time I could see them clearly once more. Bruno
again sang by himself: —
^'Say, whence is the voice that, when anger is burning,
Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease?
That stirs the vexed soul with an aching — a yearning
For the brotherly hand- grip of peace?
Whence the music that fills all our being — that thrills
Around us, beneath, and above?"
694 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Sylvie sang more courageously, this time: the words
seemed to carry her away, out of herself: —
4t f
Tis a secret: none \nows how it comes, how it goes:
But the name of the secret is hovel"
And clear and strong the chorus rang out: —
*'For I thin\ it is hove,
For I feel it is hove,
For I'm sure it is nothing but hove!**
Once more we heard Bruno's delicate little voice
alone : —
''Say whose is the sJ{ill that paints valley and hill,
hi\e a picture so fair to the sight?
That flec\s the green meadow with sunshine and shadow,
Till the little lambs leap with delight?"
And again uprose that silvery voice, whose angelic
sweetness I could hardly bear: —
t< *
Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold,
Though 'tis sung, by the angels above,
In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear —
And the name of the secret is hovel"
And then Bruno joined in again with
''For I thin\ it is hove,
For I feel it is hove.
For I'm sure it is nothing but hovel*'
"That are pretty!" the little fellow exclaimed, as the
children passed us — so closely that we drew back a little
1
GAMMON AND SPINACH 695
to make room for them, and it seemed we had only to
reach out a hand to touch them: but this we did not
attempt.
"No use to try and stop them!" I said, as they passed
away into the shadows. "Why, they could not even
see us!"
"No use at all," Lady Muriel echoed with a sigh. "One
would li\e to meet them again, in living form! But I feel,
somehow, that can never be. They have passed out of
our lives!" She sighed again; and no more was said, till
we came out into the main road, at a point near my
lodgings.
"Well, I will leave you here," she said. "I want to get
back before dark: and I have a cottage-friend to visit,
first. Good night, dear friend! Let us see you soon — and
often!" she added, with an affectionate warmth that went
to my very heart. ''Vor those are jew we hold as dearT
"Good night!" I answered. "Tennyson said that of a
worthier friend than me."
"Tennyson didn't know what he was talking about!"
she saucily rejoined, with a touch of her old childish
gaiety; and we parted.
Chapter XX
Gammon and Spinach '
My landlady's welcome had an extra heartiness about it:
and though, with a rare delicacy of feeling, she made no
direct allusion to the friend whose companionship had
done so much to brighten life for me, I felt sure that it
was a kindly sympathy with my solitary state that made
696 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
her so specially anxious to do all she could think of to
ensure my comfort, and make me feel at home.
The lonely evening seemed long and tedious: yet I
hngered on, watching the dying fire, and letting Fancy
mould the red embers into the forms and faces belong-
ing to bygone scenes. Now it seemed to be Bruno's
roguish smile that sparkled for a moment, and died
away : now it was Sylvie's rosy cheek : and now the Pro-
fessor's jolly round face, beaming with delight. "You're
welcome, my little ones!" he seemed to say. And then
the red coal, which for the moment embodied the dear
old Professor, began to wax dim, and with its dying
lustre the words seemed to die away into silence. I seized
the poker, and with an artful touch or two revived the
waning glow, while Fancy — no coy minstrel she — sang
me once again the magic strain I loved to hear.
"You're welcome, little ones!" the cheery voice re-
peated. "I told them you were coming. Your rooms are
all ready for you. And the Emperor and the Empress —
well, I think they're rather pleased than otherwise! In
fact. Her Highness said 'I hope they'll be in time for the
Banquet!' Those were her very words, I assure you!"
"Will Uggug be at the Banquet?" Bruno asked. And
both children looked uneasy at the dismal suggestion.
"Why, of course he will!" chuckled the Professor.
*'Why, it's his birthday ^ don't you know? And his health
will be drunk, and all that sort of thing. What would
the Banquet be without him?''
"Ever so much nicer," said Bruno. But he said it in
a very low voice, and nobody but Sylvie heard him.
The Professor chuckled again. "It'll be a jolly Banquet,
now you've come, my little man! I am so glad to see you
agam!
GAMMON AND SPINACH 697
"I 'fraid we've been very long in coming," Bruno
politely remarked.
"Well, yes," the Professor assented. "However, you're
very short, now you're come: that's some comfort." And
he went on to enumerate the plans for the day. "The
Lecture comes first," he said. ''That the Empress insists
on. She says people will eat so much at the Banquet,
they'll be too sleepy to attend to the Lecture afterwards —
and perhaps she's right. There'll just be a little refresh-
menty when the people first arrive — as a kind of surprise
for the Empress, you know. Ever since she's been — well>
not quite so clever as she once was — we've found it de-
sirable to concoct little surprises for her. Then comes the
Lecture — "
"What? The Lecture you were getting ready — ever so
long ago?" Sylvie enquired.
"Yes — that's the one," the Professor rather reluctantly
admitted. "It has taken a goodish time to prepare. I've
got so many other things to attend to. For instance, I'm
Court-Physician. I have to keep all the Royal Servants
in good health — and that reminds me!" he cried, ringing
the bell in a great hurry. "This is Medicine-Day! We
only give Medicine once a week. If we were to begin
giving it every day, the bottles would soon be empty!"
"But if they were ill on the other days?" Sylvie sug-
gested.
"What, ill on the wrong dayT exclaimed the Professor.
"Oh, that would never do! A Servant would be dis-
missed at once^ who was ill on the wrong day! This is
the Medicine for today ^' he went on, taking down a large
jug from a shelf. "I mixed it, myself, first thing this
morning. Taste it!" he said, holding out the jug to
Bruno. "Dip in your finger, and taste it!"
698 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Bruno did so, and made such an excruciatingly wry
face that Sylvie exclaimed, in alarm, "Oh, Bruno, you
mustn't!"
"It's welly extremely nasty!" Bruno said, as his face
resumed its natural shape.
"Nasty?" said the Professor. "Why, of course it is!
What would Medicine, be if it wasn't nasty?''
"Nice," said Bruno.
"I was going to say — " the Professor faltered, rather
taken aback by the promptness of Bruno's reply, " — that
that would never do! Medicine has to be nasty, you know.
Be good enough to take this jug, down into the Ser-
vants' Hall," he said to the footman who answered the
bell: "and tell them it's their Medicine for today T
"Which of them is to drink it.^" the footman asked,
as he carried off the jug.
"Oh, I've not settled that yet!" the Professor briskly
replied. "I'll come and settle that, soon. Tell them not to
begin, on any account, till I come! It's really wonderfuly'
he said, turning to the children, "the success I've had in
curing Diseases! Here are some of my memoranda." He
took down from the shelf a heap of little bits of paper,
pinned together in twos and threes. "Just look at this set,
now. ^Under'Coo\ Number Thirteen recovered from
Common Fever — Fehris Communis' And now see what's
pinned to it. ^Gave Under-Coo^ Number Thirteen a
Double Dose of Medicine' That's something to be proud
of, isnt it?"
"But which happened first?" said Sylvie, looking very
much puzzled.
The Professor examined the papers carefully. "They
are not dated ^ I find," he said with a slightly dejected
air: "so I fear I ca'n't tell you. But they both happened:
there's no doubt of tJiat. The Medicine's the great thing,
GAMMON AND SPINACH 699
you know. The Diseases are much less important. You
can keep a Medicine^ for years and years: but nobody
ever wants to keep a Disease! By the way, come and
look at the platform. The Gardener asked me to come
and see if it would do. We may as well go before it gets
dark."
"We'd like to, very much!" Sylvie replied. "Come,
Bruno, put on your hat. Don't keep the dear Professor
waiting!"
"Ca'n't find my hat!" the Httle fellow sadly replied.
"I were rolling it about. And it's rolled itself away!"
"Maybe it's rolled in there,'' Sylvie suggested, pointing
to a dark recess, the door of which stood half open : and
Bruno ran in to look. After a minute he came slowly out
again, looking very grave, and carefully shut the cup-
board-door after him.
"It aren't in there," he said, with such unusual
solemnity, that Sylvie's curiosity was roused.
"What is in there, Bruno?"
"There's cobwebs — and two spiders — " Bruno thought-
fully replied, checking off the catalogue on his fingers,
" — and the cover of a picture-book — and a tortoise — and
a dish of nuts — and an old man."
"An old man!" cried the Professor, trotting across
the room in great excitement. "Why, it must be the
Other Professor, that's been lost for ever so long!"
He opened the door of the cupboard wide: and there
he was, the Other Professor, sitting in a chair, with a
book on his knee, and in the act of helping himself to
a nut from a dish, which he had taken down off a shelf
just within his reach. He looked round at us, but said
nothing till he had cracked and eaten the nut. Then he
asked the old question. "Is the Lecture all ready?"
"It'll begin in an hour," the Professor said, evading
700 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
the question. "First, we must have something to sur-
prise the Empress. And then comes the Banquet — "
"The Banquet!" cried the Other Professor, springing
up, and filhng the room with a cloud of dust. Then I'd
better go and — and brush myself a little. What a state
mm!
"He does want brushing!" the Professor said, with a
critical air, "Here's your hat, little man! I had put it on
by mistake. I'd quite forgotten I had one on, already.
Let's go and look at the platform."
"And there's that nice old Gardener singing still!"
Bruno exclaimed in delight, as we went out into the
garden. "I do believe he's been singing that very song
ever since we went away!"
"Why, of course he has!" replied the Professor. "It
wouldn't be the thing to leave off, you know."
"Wouldn't be what thing?" said Bruno: but the Pro-
fessor thought it best not to hear the question. "What are
you doing with that hedgehog?" he shouted at the Gar-
dener, whom they found standing upon one foot, sing-
ing softly to himself, and rolling a hedgehog up and
down with the other foot.
"Well, I wanted fur to know what hedgehogs lives on:
so I be a-keeping this here hedgehog — fur to see if it eats
potatoes — "
"Much better keep a potato," said the Professor; "and
see if hedgehogs eat it!"
"That be the roight way, sure-ly!" the delighted Gar-
dener exclaimed. "Be you come to see the platform?"
"Aye, aye!" the Professor cheerily replied. "And the
children have come back, you see!"
The Gardener looked round at them with a grin. Then
he led the way to the Pavilion; and as he went he sang: —
GAMMON AND SPINACH 701
''He looked again, and found it was
A Double Rule of Three:
* And all its Mystery' he said,
'Is clear as day to me!' ''
"You've been months over that song," said the Pro-
fessor. "Isn't it finished yet?"
"There be only one verse more," the Gardener sadly
replied. And, with tears streaming down his cheeks, he
sang the last verse: —
"He thought he saw an Argument
That proved he was the Pope:
He loo\ed again, and found it was
A Bar of Mottled Soap.
'A fact so dread,' he faintly said,
'Extinguishes all hope I' "
Choking with sobs, the Gardener hastily stepped on a
few yards ahead of the party, to conceal his emotion.
"Did he see the Bar of Mottled Soap?" Sylvie en-
quired, as we followed.
"Oh, certainly!" said the Professor. "That song is his
own history, you know."
Tears of an ever-ready sympathy glittered in Bruno's
eyes. "I's welly sorry he isn't the Pope!" he said. "Aren't
you sorry, Sylvie?"
"Well — I hardly know," Sylvie replied in the vaguest
manner. "Would it make him any happier?" she asked
the Professor.
"It wouldn't make the Pope any happier," said the Pro-
fessor. "Isn't the platform lovely?'' he asked, as we en-
tered the Pavilion.
"I've put an extra beam under it!" said the Gardener^
702 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
patting it affectionately as he spoke. "And now it's that
strong, as — as a mad elephant might dance upon it!"
"Thank you very much!" the Professor heartily re-
joined. "I don't know that we shall exactly require — but
it's convenient to know." And he led the children upon
the platform, to explain the arrangements to them. "Here
are three seats, you see, for the Emperor and the Em-
press and Prince Uggug. But there must be two more
chairs here!" he said, looking down at the Gardener.
"One for Lady Sylvie, and one for the smaller animal!"
"And may I help in the Lecture?" said Bruno. "I can
do some conjuring-tricks."
"Well, it's not exactly a conjuring lecture," the Pro-
fessor said, as he arranged some curious-looking machines
on the table. "However, what can you do ? Did you ever
go through a table, for instance?"
"Often!" said Bruno. ^'Havent I, Sylvie?"
The Professor was evidently surprised, though he tried
not to show it. "This must be looked into," he muttered
to himself, taking out a note-book. "And first — what kind
of table?"
"Tell him!" Bruno whispered to Sylvie, putting his
arms round her neck.
"Tell him yourself," said Sylvie.
"Ca'n't," said Bruno. "It's a bony word."
"Nonsense!" laughed Sylvie. "You can say it well
enough, if you only try. Come!"
"Muddle—" said Bruno. "That's a bit of it."
''What does he say?" cried the bewildered Professor.
"He means the multiplication-table," Sylvie explained.
The Professor looked annoyed, and shut up his note-
book again. "Oh, that's quite another thing," he said.
"It are ever so many other things," said Bruno. "Arent
it, Sylvie?"
GAMMON AND SPINACH 703
A loud blast o£ trumpets interrupted this conversation.
"Why, the entertainment has begun T the Professor ex-
claimed, as he hurried the children into the Reception-
Saloon. "I had no idea it was so late!"
A small table, containing cake and wine, stood in a
corner o£ the Saloon; and here we found the Emperor
and Empress waiting for us. The rest of the Saloon had
been cleared of furniture, to make room for the guests. I
was much struck by the great change a few months had
made in the faces of the Imperial Pair. A vacant stare was
now the Emperor s usual expression; while over the face
of the Empress there flitted, ever and anon, a meaning-
less smile.
"So you're come at last!" the Emperor sulkily remarked,
as the Professor and the children took their places. It was
evident that he was very much out of temper: and we
were not long in learning the cause of this. He did not
consider the preparations, made for the Imperial party,
to be such as suited their rank. "A common mahogany
table!" he growled, pointing to it contemptuously with
his thumb. "Why wasn't it made of gold, I should like
to know?"
"It would have taken a very long — " the Professor
began, but the Emperor cut the sentence short.
"Then the cake! Ordinary plum! Why wasn't it made
of — of — " He broke off again. "Then the wine! Merely
old Madeira! Why wasn't it — ? Then this chair! That's
worst of all. Why wasn't it a throne? One might excuse
the other omissions, but I cant get over the chair!"
"What / ca'n't get over," said the Empress, in eager
sympathy with her angry husband, "is the tableT
"Pooh!" said the Emperor.
"It is much to be regretted!" the Professor mildly re-
plied, as soon as he had a chance of speaking. After a
704 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
moment's thought he strengthened the remark. ''Every-
thing,'' he said, addressing Society in general, "is very
much to be regretted!"
A murmur of "Hear, hear!" rose from the crowded
Saloon.
There was a rather awkward pause: the Professor evi-
dently didn't know how to begin. The Empress leant
forwards, and whispered to him. "A few jokes, you know,
Professor — just to put people at their ease!"
"True, true. Madam!" the Professor meekly replied.
"This little boy — "
"Please don't make any jokes about me!" Bruno ex-
claimed, his eyes filling with tears.
"I won't if you'd rather I didn't," said the kind-hearted
Professor. "It was only something about a Ship's Buoy:
a harmless pun — but it doesn't matter." Here he turned
to the crowd and addressed them in a loud voice. "Learn
your A's!" he shouted. "Your B's! Your C's! And your
D's! Then you'll be at your ease!"
There was a roar of laughter from all the assembly,
and then a great deal of confused whispering. ''What was
it he said? Something about bees, I fancy — "
The Empress smiled in her meaningless way, and
fanned herself. The poor Professor looked at her timidly :
he was clearly at his wits' end again, and hoping for
another hint. The Empress whispered again.
"Some spinach, you know. Professor, as a surprise."
The Professor beckoned to the Head-Cook, and said
something to him in a low voice. Then the Head-Cook
left the room, followed by all the other cooks.
"It's difficult to get things started," the Professor re-
marked to Bruno. "When once we get started, it'll go on
all right, you'll see."
GAMMON AND SPINACH 705
"If 00 want to startle people," said Bruno, "00 should
put live frogs on their backs."
Here the cooks all came in again, in a procession, the
Head-Cook coming last and carrying something, which
the others tried to hide by waving flags all round it.
"Nothing but flags. Your Imperial Highness! Nothing
but flags!" he kept repeating, as he set it before her. Then
all the flags were dropped in a moment, as the Head-
Cook raised the cover from an enormous dish.
"What is it?" the Empress said faintly, as she put her
spy-glass to her eye. "Why, it's Spinach^ I declare!"
"Her Imperial Highness is surprised," the Professor
explained to the attendants: and some of them clapped
their hands. The Head-Cook made a low bow, and in
doing so dropped a spoon on the table, as if by acci-
dent, just within reach of the Empress, who looked the
other way and pretended not to see it.
"I am surprised!" the Empress said to Bruno. "Aren't
your
"Not a bit," said Bruno. "I heard — " but Sylvie put her
hand over his mouth, and spoke for him. "He's rather
tired, I think. He wants the Lecture to begin."
"I want the supper to begin," Bruno corrected her.
The Empress took up the spoon in an absent manner,
and tried to balance it across the back of her hand, and
in doing this she dropped it into the dish : and, when she
took it out again, it was full of spinach. "How curious!"
she said, and put it into her mouth. "It tastes just like
real spinach! I thought it was an imitation — but I do
believe it's real!" And she took another spoonful.
"It wo'n't be real much longer," said Bruno.
But the Empress had had enough spinach by this time,
and somehow — I failed to notice the exact process — we
7o6 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
all found ourselves in the Pavilion, and the Professor in
the act of beginning the long-expected Lecture.
Chapter XXI
The Professor's Lecture
'*In Science — in fact, in most things — it is usually best
to begin at the beginning. In some things, fo course, it's
better to begin at the other end. For instance, if you
wanted to paint a dog green, it might be best to begin
with the tail^ as it doesn't bite at that end. And so — "
"May / help oo?" Bruno interrupted.
"Help me to do what?'' said the puzzled Professor,
looking up for a moment, but keeping his finger on the
book he was reading from, so as not to lose his place.
"To paint a dog green!" cried Bruno. "Oo can begin
wiz its moufy and ril— "
"No, no!" said the Professor. "We haven't got to the
Experiments yet. And so," returning to his note-book,
"I'll give you the Axioms of Science. After that I shall
exhibit some Specimens. Then I shall explain a Process
or two. And I shall conclude with a few Experiments. An
Axiom^ you know, is a thing that you accept without
contradiction. For instance, if I were to say 'Here we are!',
that would be accepted without any contradiction, and it's
a nice sort of remark to begin a conversation with. So
it would be an Axiom, Or again, supposing I were to say,
'Here we are not!', that would be — "
" — a fib!" cried Bruno.
"Oh, BrunoT said Sylvie in a warning whisper. "Of
course it would be an Axiom, if the Professor said it!"
THE PROFESSOR S LECTURE 707
" — that would be accepted, if people were civil," con-
tinued the Professor; "so it would be another Axiom."
"It might be an Axledum," Bruno said: "but it wouldn't
be truer
"Ignorance of Axioms," the Lecturer continued, "is a
great drawback in life. It wastes so much time to have
to say them over and over again. For instance, take the
Axiom, 'Nothing is greater than itself ; that is, 'Nothing
can contain itself' How often you hear people say *He
was so excited, he was quite unable to contain himself.'
Why, of course he was unable! The excitement had noth-
ing to do with it!"
"I say, look here, you know!" said the Emperor, who
was getting a little restless. "How many Axioms are you
going to give us? At this rate, we sha'n't get to the Ex-
periments till to-morrow-week!"
"Oh, sooner than that, I assure you!" the Professor re-
plied, looking up in alarm. "There are only," (he re-
ferred to his notes again) "only two more, that are really
necessary!'
"Read 'em out, and get on to the Specimens,' grumbled
the Emperor.
"The First Axiom," the Professor read out in a great
hurry, "consists of these words, ' Whatever is, is! And the
Second consists of these words, 'Whatever isn't, isn't! We
will now go on to the Specimens, The first tray contains
Crystals and other Things." He drew it towards him,
and again referred to his note-book. "Some of the labels
— owing to insufficient adhesion — " Here he stopped
again, and carefully examined the page with his eye-
glass. "I ca'n't read the rest of the sentence," he said at
last, "but it means that the labels have come loose, and
the Things have got mixed — "
"Let me stick 'em on again!" cried Bruno eagerly, and
708 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
began licking them, like postage-stamps, and dabbing
them down upon the Crystals and the other Things. But
the Professor hastily moved the tray out of his reach.
"They might get fixed to the wrong Specimens, you
know!" he said.
"Oo shouldn't have any wrong peppermints in the
tray!" Bruno boldly replied. ''Should he, Sylvie?"
But Sylvie only shook her head.
The Professor heard him not. He had taken up one
of the bottles, and was carefully reading the label through
his eye-glass. "Our first Specimen — " he announced, as
he placed the bottle in front of the other Things, "is —
that is, it is called — " here he took it up, and examined
the label again, as if he thought it might have changed
since he last saw it, "is called Aqua Pura — common
water — the fluid that cheers — "
"Hip! Hip! Hip!" the Head-Cook began enthusias-
tically.
" — but not inebriates!" the Professor went on quickly,
but only just in time to check the "Hooroar!" which was
beginning.
"Our second Specimen," he went on, carefully open-
ing a small jar, "is — " here he removed the lid, and a
large beetle instantly darted out, and with an angry buzz
went straight out of the Pavilion, " — is — or rather, I
should say," looking sadly into the empty jar, "it was —
a curious kind of Blue Beetle. Did anyone happen to re-
mark— as it went past — three blue spots under each
wmgr
Nobody had remarked them.
"Ah, well!" the Professor said with a sigh. "It's a pity.
Unless you remark that kind of thing at the moment, it's
very apt to get overlooked! The next Specimen, at any
rate, will not fly away! It is — in short, or perhaps, more
THE PROFESSOR S LECTURE 709
correctly, at length — an Elephant, You will observe — "
Here he beckoned to the Gardener to come up on the
platform, and with his help began putting together what
looked like an enormous dog-kennel, with short tubes
projecting out of it on both sides.
"But we've seen Elephants before," the Emperor
grumbled.
"Yes, but not through a MegaloscopeT the Professor
eagerly replied. "You know you ca'n't see a Flea, prop-
erly, without a magnifying'glsiss — what we call a Micro-
scope. Well, just in the same way, you ca'n't see an
Elephant, properly, without a minimifying-glass. There's
one in each of these little tubes. And this is a Megaloscope!
The Gardener will now bring in the next Specimen.
Please open both curtains, down at the end there, and
make way for the Elephant!"
There was a general rush to the sides of the Pavilion,
and all eyes were turned to the open end, watching for
the return of the Gardener, who had gone away sing-
ing ''He thought he saw ari Elephant That practised on
a Fife!'' There was silence for a minute: and then his
harsh voice was heard again in the distance. ''He hoiked
again — come up then! He loo\ed again, and found it
was — woa back! and found it was A letter from \his —
make way there! He's a-coming!"
And in marched, or waddled — it is hard to say which
is the right word — an Elephant, on its hind-legs, and
playing on an enormous fife which it held with its fore-
feet.
The Professor hastily threw open a large door at the
end of the Megaloscope, and the huge animal, at a signal
from the Gardener, dropped the fife, and obediently
trotted into the machine, the door of which was at once
shut by the Professor. "The Specimen is now ready for
710 SYLYIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
observation!" he proclaimed. "It is exactly the size of the
common Mouse — Mus Communis!''
There was a general rush to the tubes, and the spec-
tators watched with delight the minikin creature, as it
playfully coiled its trunk round the Professor's extended
finger, finally taking its stand upon the palm of his hand,
while he carefully lifted it out, and carried it ofl to ex-
hibit to the Imperial party.
"Isn't it a darling?'' cried Bruno. "May I stroke it,
please? I'll touch it welly gently!"
The Empress inspected it solemnly with her eye-glass.
"It is very small," she said in a deep voice. "Smaller than
elephants usually are, I believe?"
The Professor gave a start of delighted surprise. "Why,
that's true!" he murmured to himself. Then louder, turn-
ing to the audience, "Her Imperial Highness has made a
remark which is perfectly sensible!" And a wild cheei
arose from that vast mulitude.
"The next Specimen," the Professor proclaimed, after
carefully placing the little Elephant in the tray, among
the Crystals and other Things, "is a Flea^ which we will
enlarge for the purposes of observation." Taking a small
pill-box from the tray, he advanced to the Megaloscope,
and reversed all the tubes. "The Specimen is ready!" he
cried, with his eye at one of the tubes, while he carefully
emptied the pill-box through a little hole at the side. "It
is now the size of the Common Horse — Equus Com-
munis!"
There was another general rush, to look through the
tubes, and the Pavilion rang with shouts of delight,
through which the Professor's anxious tones could scarce-
ly be heard. "Keep the door of the Microscope shut!" he
cried. "If the creature were to escape, this size^ it would — "
But the mischief was done. The door had swung open,
THE PROFESSOR S LECTURE 7II
and in another moment the Monster had got out, and
was trampUng down the terrified, shrieking spectators.
But the Professor's presence of mind did not desert
him. "Undraw those curtains!" he shouted. It was done.
The Monster gathered its legs together, and in one
tremendous bound vanished into the sky.
"Where is it?" said the Emperor, rubbing his eyes.
"In the next Province, I fancy," the Professor rephed.
"That jump would take it at least five miles! The next
thing is to explain a Process or two. But I find there is
hardly room enough to operate — the smaller animal is
rather in my way — "
"Who does he mean?" Bruno whispered to Sylvie.
"He means you!'' Sylvie whispered back. "Hush!"
"Be kind enough to move — angularly — to this corner,"
the Professor said, addressing himself to Bruno.
Bruno hastily moved his chair in the direction indi-
cated. "Did I move angrily enough?" he inquired. But
the Professor was once more absorbed in his Lecture,
which he was reading from his note-book.
"I will now explain the Process of — the name is blotted,
I'm sorry to say. It will be illustrated by a number of —
of — " here he examined the page for some time, and at
last said "It seems to be either 'Experiments' or 'Speci-
mens —
"Let it be Experiments'' said the Emperor. "We've
seen plenty of Specimens."
"Certainly, certainly!" the Professor assented. "We will
have some Experiments."
"May / do them?" Bruno eagerly asked.
"Oh dear no!" The Professor looked dismayed. "I really
don't know what would happen if you did them!"
"Nor nobody doosn't know what'll happen if 00 doos
them!" Bruno retorted.
712 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"Our First Experiment requires a Machine. It has two
knobs — only two — you can count them, if you hke."
The Head-Cook stepped forwards, counted them, and
retired satisfied.
"Now you might press those two knobs together — but
that's not the way to do it. Or you might turn the Ma-
chine upside-down — but that's not the way to do it!"
"What are the way to do it?" said Bruno, who was
Hstening very attentively.
The Professor smiled benignantly. "Ah, yes!" he said,
in a voice like the heading of a chapter. "The Way To
Do It! Permit me!" and in a moment he had whisked
Bruno upon the table. "I divide my subject," he began,
"into three parts — "
"I think I'll get down!" Bruno whispered to Sylvie.
"It aren't nice to be divided!"
"He hasn't got a knife, silly boy!" Sylvie whispered
in reply. "Stand still! You'll break all the bottles!"
"The first part is to take hold of the knobs," putting
them into Bruno's hands. "The second part is — " Here
he turned the handle, and, with a loud "Oh!", Bruno
dropped both the knobs, and began rubbing his elbows.
The Professor chuckled in delight. "It had a sensible
effect. Hadn't it?" he enquired.
"No, it hadn't a sensible effect!" Bruno said indignant-
ly. "It were very silly indeed. It jingled my elbows, and
it banged my back, and it crinkled my hair, and it buzzed
among my bones!"
"I'm sure it didn't!'' said Sylvie. "You're only invent-
ing!
!"
"Oo doosn't know nuffin about it!" Bruno replied.
"Oo wasn't there to see. Nobody ca'n't go among my
bones. There isn't room!"
"Our Second Experiment," the Professor announced.
THE PROFESSOR S LECTURE 713
as Bruno returned to his place, still thoughtfully rubbing
his elbows, "is the production of that seldom-seen-but-
greatly-to-be-admired phenomenon, Black Light! You
have seen White Light, Red Light, Green Light, and so
on: but never, till this wonderful day, have any eyes but
mine seen Blac\ Light! This box," carefully lifting it
upon the table, and covering it with a heap of blankets,
"is quite full of it. The way I made it was this — I took
a lighted candle into a dark cupboard and shut the
door. Of course the cupboard was then full of Yellow
Light. Then I took a bottle of Black ink, and poured
it over the candle : and, to my delight, every atom of the
Yellow Light turned Blac\! That was indeed the proud-
est moment of my life! Then I filled a box with it. And
now — would anyone like to get under the blankets and
see itr
Dead silence followed this appeal: but at last Bruno
said "77/ get under, if it won't jingle my elbows."
Satisfied on this point, Bruno crawled under the
blankets, and, after a minute or two, crawled out again,
very hot and dusty, and with his hair in the wildest
confusion.
"What did you see in the box?" Sylvie eagerly en-
quired.
"I saw nuffinr Bruno sadly replied. "It were too dark!"
"He has described the appearance of the thing exactly!"
the Professor exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Black Light,
and Nothing, look so extremely alike, at first sight, that
I don't wonder he failed to distinguish them! We will
now proceed to the Third Experiment."
The Professor came down, and led the way to where
a post had been driven firmly into the ground. To one
side of the post was fastened a chain, with an iron weight
hooked on to the end of it, and from the other side
714 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
projected a piece of whalebone, with a ring at the end
of it. "This is a most interesting Experiment!" the Pro-
fessor announced. "It will need time^ I'm afraid: but that
is a trifling disadvantage. Now observe. If I were to un-
hook this weight, and let go, it would fall to the ground.
You do not deny that?''
Nobody denied it.
"And in the same way, if I were to bend this piece of
whalebone round the post — thus — and put the ring over
this hook — thus — it stays bent: but, if I unhook it, it
straightens itself again. You do not deny that?''
Again, nobody denied it.
"Well, now, suppose we left things just as they are,
for a long time. The force of the whalebone would get
exhausted, you know, and it would stay bent, even when
you unhooked it. Now, why shouldn't the same thing
happen with th-e weight? The whalebone gets so used
to being bent, that it ca'n't straighten itself any more.
Why shouldn't the weight get so used to being held up,
that it ca'n't jail any more? That's what / want to
know!"
"That's what we want to know!" echoed the crowd.
"How long must we wait?" grumbled the Emperor.
The Professor looked at his watch. "Well, I thinks a
thousand years will do to begin with," he said. "Then
we will cautiously unhook the weight: and, if it still
shows (as perhaps it will) a slight tendency to fall, we
will hook it on to the chain again, and leave it for an-
other thousand years."
Here the Empress experienced one of those flashes of
Common Sense which were the surprise of all around
her. "Meanwhile there'll be time for another Experiment,"
she said.
"There will indeed!" cried the delighted Professor. "Let
THE BANQUET 715
US return to the platform, and proceed to the Fourth Ex-
periment!"
"For this concluding Experiment, I will take a certain
Alkali, or Acid — I forget which. Now you'll see what
will happen when I mix it with Some — " here he took
up a bottle, and looked at it doubtfully, " — when I mix
it with — with Something — "
Here the Emperor interrupted. "What's the name of
the stuff?" he asked.
"I don't remember the name^^' said the Professor: "and
the label has come off." He emptied it quickly into the
other bottle, and, with a tremendous bang, both bottles
flew to pieces, upsetting all the machines, and filling the
Pavilion with thick black smoke. I sprang to my feet
in terror, and — and found myself standing before my
solitary hearth, where the poker, dropping at last from
the hand of the sleeper, had knocked over the tongs and
the shovel, and had upset the kettle, filling the air with
clouds of steam. With a weary sigh, I betook myself
to bed.
Chapter XXII
The Banquet
''Heaviness may endure for a night: but joy cometh in
the morning.'' The next day found me quite another be-
ing. Even the memories of my lost friend and companion
were sunny as the genial weather that smiled around me.
I did not venture to trouble Lady Muriel, or her father,
with another call so soon: but took a walk into the
country, and only turned homewards when the low sun-
beams warned me that day would soon be over.
7l6 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
On my way home, I passed the cottage where the old
man Hved, whose face always recalled to me the day
when I first met Lady Muriel; and I glanced in as I
passed, half-curious to see if he were still living there.
Yes: the old man was still alive. He was sitting out
in the porch, looking just as he did when I first saw him
at Fay field Junction — it seemed only a few days ago!
"Good evening!" I said, pausing.
"Good evening, Maister!" he cheerfully responded.
"Won't ee step in?"
I stepped in, and took a seat on the bench in the porch.
"Fm glad to see you looking so hearty," I began. "Last
time, I remember, I chanced to pass just as Lady Muriel
was coming away from the house. Does she still come to
see you
?
5)
"Ees," he answered slowly. "She has na forgotten me.
I don't lose her bonny face for many days together. Well
I mind the very first time she come, after we'd met at
Railway Station. She told me as she come to mak'
amends. Dear child! Only think o' that! To mak'
amends!"
"To make amends for what?" I enquired. "What could
sJie have done to need it?"
"Well, it were loike this, you see? We were both on
us a-waiting fur t' train at t' Junction. And I had setten
mysen down upat t' bench. And Station-Maister, he comes
and he orders me off — fur t' mak' room for her Lady-
ship, you understand?"
"I remember it all," I said. "I was there myself, that
day."
''Was you, now? Well, an' she axes my pardon fur 't.
Think o' that, now! My pardon! An owd ne'er-do-weel
like me! Ah! She's been here many a time, sin' then.
Why, she were in here only yestere'en, as it were, a-sittin',
THE BANQUET 717
as it might be, where you're a-sitting now, an' lookin'
sweeter and kinder nor an angel! An' she says 'You've
not got your Minnie, now,' she says, *to fettle for ye.'
Minnie was my grand-daughter. Sir, as lived wi' me.
She died, a matter of two months ago — or it may be three.
She was a bonny lass — and a good lass, too. Eh, but life
has been rare an' lonely without her!"
He covered his face in his hands: and I waited a min-
ute or two, in silence, for him to recover himself.
"So she says, 'Just tak' me fur your Minnie!' she says.
*Didna Minnie mak' your tea fur you?' says she. 'Ay,'
says I. An' she mak's the tea. *An' didna Minnie light
your pipe?' says she. 'Ay,' says I. An' she lights the pipe
for me. 'An' didna Minnie set out your tea in t' porch?'
An' I says 'My dear,' I says, 'I'm thinking you're Minnie
hersen!' An' she cries a bit. We both on us cries a bit — "
Again I kept silence for a while.
"An' while I smokes my pipe, she sits an' talks to me —
as loving an' as pleasant! I'll be bound I thowt it were
Minnie come again! An' when she gets up to go, I says
'Winnot ye shak' hands wi' me?' says I. An' she says
'Na,' she says: 'a cannot sha}( hands wi' thee!' she says."
"I'm sorry she said that^' I put in, thinking it was the
only instance I had ever known of pride of rank show-
ing itself in Lady Muriel.
"Bless you, it werena prided' said the old man, reading
my thoughts. "She says 'Your Minnie never shoo\ hands
wi' you!' she says. 'An' Vm your Minnie now,' she says.
An' she just puts her dear arms about my neck — and she
kisses me on t' cheek — an' may God in Heaven bless
her!" And here the poor old man broke down entirely,
and could say no more.
"God bless her!" I echoed. "And good night to you!"
I pressed his hand, and left him. "Lady Muriel," I said
7l8 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
softly to myself as I went homewards, "truly you know
how to 'mak' amends'!"
Seated once more by my lonely fireside, I tried to recall
the strange vision of the night before, and to conjure up
the face of the dear old Professor among the blazing
coals. "That black one — with just a touch of red — would
suit him well," I thought. "After such a catastrophe, it
would be sure to be covered with black stains — and he
would say: —
"The result of that combination — you may have no-
ticed?— was an Explosion! Shall I repeat the Experi-
ment?"
"No, no! Don't trouble yourself!" was the general cry.
And we all trooped off, in hot haste, to the Banqueting-
Hall, where the feast had already begun.
No time was lost in helping the dishes, and very
speedily every guest found his plate filled with good
things.
"I have always maintained the principle," the Profes-
sor began, "that it is a good rule to take some food —
occasionally. The great advantage of dinner-parties — "
he broke ojff suddenly. "Why, actually here's the Other
Professor!" he cried. "And there's no place left for him!"
The Other Professor came in reading a large book,
which he held close to his eyes. One result of his not
looking where he was going was that he tripped up, as
he crossed the Saloon, flew up into the air, and fell
heavily on his face in the middle of the table.
''What a pity!" cried the kind-hearted Professor, as he
helped him up.
"It wouldn't be me, if I didn't trip," said the Other
Professor.
The Professor looked much shocked. "Almost anything
would be better than that!'' he exclaimed. "It never does,"
THE BANQUET 719
he added, aside to Bruno, "to be anybody else, does it?"
To which Bruno gravely repUed "Fs got nuffin on my
plate."
The Professor hastily put on his spectacles, to make
sure that the facts were all right, to begin with: then he
turned his jolly round face upon the unfortunate owner
of the empty plate. "And what would you like next, my
little man?"-
"Well," Bruno said, a little doubtfully, "I think I'll
take some plum-pudding, please — while I think of it."
"Oh, Bruno!" (This was a whisper from Sylvie.) "It
isn't good manners to ask for a dish before it comes!"
And Bruno whispered back "But I might forget to ask
for some, when it comes, 00 know — I do forget things,
sometimes," he added, seeing Sylvie about to whisper
more.
And this assertion Sylvie did not venture to contradict.
Meanwhile a chair had been placed for the Other Pro-
fessor, between the Empress and Sylvie. Sylvie found him
a rather uninteresting neighbour: in fact, she couldn't
afterwards remember that he had made more than one
remark to her during the whole banquet, and that was
"What a comfort a Dictionary is!" (She told Bruno,
afterwards, that she had been too much afraid of him to
say more than "Yes, Sir" in reply; and that had been the
end of their conversation. On which Bruno expressed a
very decided opinion that that wasn't worth calling a
"conversation" at all. "Oo should have asked him a
riddle!" he added triumphantly. "Why, / asked the Pro-
fessor three riddles! One was that one you asked me in
the morning, 'How m.any pennies is there in two shill-
ings?' And another was — " "Oh, Bruno!" Sylvie inter-
rupted. ''That wasn't a riddle!" "It wereT Bruno fiercely
replied.)
i
720 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
By this time a waiter had suppUed Bruno with a plate-
ful of somethings which drove the plum-pudding out of
his head.
"Another advantage of dinner-parties," the Professor
cheerfully explained, for the benefit of anyone that would
hsten, "is that it helps you to see your friends. If you j
want to see a man, offer him something to eat. It's the
same rule with a mouse."
"This Cat's very kind to the Mouses," Bruno said,
stooping to stroke a remarkably fat specimen of the race,
that had just waddled into the room, and was rubbing
itself affectionately against the leg of his chair. "Please,
Sylvie, pour some milk in your saucer. Pussie's ever so
thirsty!"
"Why do you want my saucer?" said Sylvie "You've
got one yourself!"
"Yes, I know," said Bruno: "but I wanted mine for
to give it some m.ore milk in."
Sylvie looked unconvinced: however it seemed quite
impossible for her ever to refuse what her brother asked :
so she quietly filled her saucer with milk, and handed it
to Bruno, who got down off his chair to administer it
to the cat.
"The room's very hot, with all this crowd," the Pro-
fessor said to Sylvie. "I wonder why they don't put some
lumps of ice in the grate? You fill it with lumps of coal
in the winter, you know, and you sit around it and enjoy
the warmth. How jolly it would be to fill it now with
lumps of ice, and sit round it and enjoy the coolth!"
Hot as it was, Sylvie shivered a little at the idea. "It's
very cold outside^' she said. "My feet got almost frozen
to-day."
"That's the shoemaker's fault!" the Professor cheerfully
replied. "How often I've explained to him that he ought
THE BANQUET 721
to makes boots with little iron frames under the soles,
to hold lamps! But he never thin\s. No one would suffer
^ from cold, if only they would thinJ{ of those little things.
I always use hot ink, myself, in the winter. Very few
people ever think of that! Yet how simple it is!"
"Yes, it's very simple," Sylvie said politely. "Has the
cat had enough?" This was to Bruno, who had brought
back the saucer only half-emptied.
But Bruno did not hear the question. "There's some-
body scratching at the door and wanting to come in," he
said. And he scrambled down off his chair, and went
and cautiously peeped out through the door-way.
"Who was it wanted to come in?" Sylvie asked, as
he returned to his place.
"It were a Mouse," said Bruno. "And it peepted in.
And it saw the Cat. And it said TU come in another
day.' And I said *Oo needn't be flightened. The Cat's
welly kind to Mouses.' And it said *But I's got some
imporkant business, what I must attend to.' And it said
*ril call again to-morrow.' And it said 'Give my love to
the Cat.' "
"What a fat cat it is!" said the Lord Chancellor, lean-
ing across the Professor to address his small neighbour,
"It's quite a wonder!"
"It was awfully fat when it camed in," said Bruno:
"so it would be more wonderfuUer if it got thin all in
a minute."
"And that was the reason, I suppose," the Lord Chan-
cellor suggested, "why you didn't give it the rest of the
milk?"
"No," said Bruno. "It was a betterer reason. I tooked
the saucer up 'cause it were so discontented!"
"It doesn't look so to m^," said the Lord Chancellor.
"What made you think it was discontented?"
iC 9
Hi
722 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
cause it grumbled in its throat."
'Oh, Bruno!" cried Sylvie. "Why, that's the way cats
show they're pleased!'^
Bruno looked doubtful. "It's not a good way," he ob-
jected. "Oo wouldn't say / were pleased, if I made that
noise in my throat!"
"What a singular boy!" the Lord Chancellor whis-
pered to himself: but Bruno had caught the words.
"What do it mean to say 'a singular boy'?" he whis-
pered to Sylvie.
"It means one boy," Sylvie whispered in return. "And
plural means two or three."
"Then I's welly glad I is a singular boy!" Bruno said
with great emphasis. "It would be horrid to be two or
three boys! P'raps they wouldn't play with me!"
"Why should they?" said the Other Professor, sudden-
ly waking up out of a deep reverie. "They might be
asleep, you know."
"Couldn't, if / was awake," Bruno said cunningly.
"Oh, but they might indeed!" the Other Professor
protested. "Boys don't all go to sleep at once, you know.
So these boys — but who are you talking about?"
"He never remembers to ask that first!" the Professor
whispered to the children.
"Why, the rest of me^ a-course!" Bruno exclaimed
triumphantly. "Supposing I was two or three boys!"
The Other Professor sighed, and seemed to be sinking
back into his reverie; but suddenly brightened up again,
and addressed the Professor. "There's nothing more to be
done now^ is there?"
"Well, there's the dinner to finish," the Professor said
with a bewildered smile: "and the heat to bear. I hope
you'll enjoy the dinner — such as it is; and that you won't
mind the heat — such as it isn't."
THE BANQUET 723
The sentence sounded well, but somehow I couldn't
quite understand it; and the Other Professor seemed to
L^ be no better off. "Such as it isn't what?'' he peevishly
enquired.
"It isn't as hot as it might be," the Professor replied,
catching at the first idea that came to hand.
"Ah, I see what you mean nowT the Other Professor
graciously remarked. "It's very badly expressed, but I
quite see it now! Thirteen minutes and a half ago," he
went on, looking first at Bruno and then at his watch
as he spoke, "you said 'this Cat's very kind to the Mouses.'
It must be a singular animal!"
"So it are^'' said Bruno, after carefully examining the
Cat, to make sure how many there were of it.
"But how do you know it's kind to the Mouses — or,
more correctly speaking, the Mice?''
"'cause it plays with the Mouses," said Bruno; "for
to amuse them, 00 know."
"But that is just what I dont know," the Other Pro-
fessor rejoined. "My belief is, it plays with them to }{ill
them!"
"Oh, that's quite a accident!" Bruno began, so eagerly,
that it was evident he had already propounded this very
difficulty to the Cat. "It 'splained all that to me, while it
were drinking the milk. It said *I teaches the Mouses new
games: the Mouses likes it ever so much.' It said *Some-
times little accidents happens : sometimes the Mouses kills
theirselves.' It said Ts always welly sorry, when the
Mouses kills theirselves.' It said — "
"If it was so very sorry," Sylvie said, rather disdain-
fully, "it wouldn't eat the Mouses after they'd killed them-
selves!"
But this difficulty, also, had evidently not been lost sight
of in the exhaustive ethical discussion just concluded. "It
724 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
said — " (the orator constantly omitted, as superfluous, his
own share in the dialogue, and merely gave us the replies
o£ the Cat) "It said *Dead Mouses never objecks to be
eaten.' It said 'There's no use wasting good Mouses.' It
said 'Wiflful — ' sumfinoruvver. It said *And 00 may live
to say *How much I wiss I had the Mouse that then
I frew away!' It said—"
"It hadn't time to say such a lot of things!" Sylvie
interrupted indignantly.
"Oo doosn't know how Cats speaks!" Bruno rejoined
contemptuously. "Cats speaks welly quick!"
Chapter XXIII
The Pig-Tale
By this time the appetites of the guests seemed to be
nearly satisfied, and even Bruno had the resolution to
say, when the Professor offered him a fourth slice of
plum-pudding, "I thinks three helpings is enough!"
Suddenly the Professor started as if he had been electri-
fied. "Why, I had nearly forgotten the most important
part of the entertainment! The Other Professor is to re-
cite a Tale of a Pig — I mean a Pig-Tale," he corrected
himself. "It has Introductory Verses at the beginning,
and at the end."
"It ca'n't have Introductory Verses at the end^ can it.'^"
said Sylvie.
"Wait till you hear it," said the Professor: "then you'll
see. I'm not sure it hasn't some in the middle^ as well."
Here he rose to his feet, and there was an instant silence
THE PIG-TALE 725
through the Banqueting-Hall : they evidently expected a
speech.
"Ladies, and gentlemen," the Professor began, "the
Other Professor is so kind as to recite a Poem. The title
of it is 'The Pig-Tale.' He never recited it before!" (Gen-
eral cheering among the guests.) "He will never recite it
again!" (Frantic excitement, and wild cheering all down
the hall, the Professor himself mounting the table in hot
haste, to lead the cheering, and waving his spectacles in
one hand and a spoon in the other.)
Then the Other Professor got up, and began : —
Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
Gorgeous in their gaiters —
Vve a Tale to tell.
Little Birds are feeding
Justices with jam.
Rich in frizzled ham:
Rich, I say, in oysters
Haunting shady cloisters —
That is what I am.
Little Birds are teaching
Tigresses to smile.
Innocent of guile:
Smile, I say, not smirl^le —
Mouth a semicircle,
That's the proper style.
Little Birds are sleeping
All among the pins,
726 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Where the loser wins:
Where, I say, he sneezes
When and how he pleases —
So the Tale begins.
There was a Pig that sat alone
Beside a ruined Pump:
By day and night he made his moan —
// would have stirred a heart of stone
To see him wring his hoofs and groan.
Because he could not jump,
A certain Cam-el heard him shout —
A Camel with a hump.
*'0h, is it Grief, or is it Gout?
What is this bellowing about?'*
That Pig replied, with quivering snout,
"Because I cannot jump I''
That Camel scanned him, dreamy-eyed,
''Methin\s you are too plump.
I never J^new a Pig so wide —
That wobbled so from side to side —
Who could, however much he tried.
Do such a thing as jump!
"Yet mar\ those trees, two miles away,
All clustered in a clump:
If you could trot there twice a day.
Nor ever pause for rest or play.
In the far future — Who can say? —
You may be fit to jump.*'
That Camel passed, and left him there.
Beside the ruined Pump.
Oh, horrid was that Pig's despair!
His shrie\s of anguish filled the air.
He wrung his hoofs, he rent his hair.
Because he could not jump.
THE PIG-TALE 727
There was a Frog that wandered by —
A slee\ and shining lump:
Inspected him with fishy eye,
And said "O. Pig, what maJ{es you cry?"
And bitter was that Pig's reply,
''Because I cannot jump!'*
That Frog he grinned a grin of glee,
And hit his chest a thump.
"O Pig," he said, "be ruled by me.
And you shall see what you shall see.
This minute, for a trifling fee,
ril teach you how to jumpl
"You may be faint from many a jail.
And bruised by many a bump:
But, if you persevere through all.
And practise first on something small.
Concluding with a ten-foot wall.
You'll find that you can jumpl"
That Pig looked up with joyful start:
"Oh Frog, you are a trumpl
Your words have healed my inward smart —
Come, name your fee and do your part:
Bring comfort to a broken heart.
By teaching me to jump!"
"My fee shall be a mutton-chop.
My goal this ruined Pump.
Observe with what an airy flop
I plant myself upon the top!
Now bend your \nees and ta\e a hop.
For that's the way to jump!"
Uprose that Pig, and rushed, full whacJ{,
Against the ruined Pump:
728 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Rolled over li\e -an empty sac\,
And settled down upon his bac\,
While all his bones at once went **Crac}{\"
It was a jatal jump.
When the Other Professor had recited this Verse, he
went across to the fire-place, and put his head up the
chimney. In doing this, he lost his balance, and fell head-
first into the empty grate, and got so firmly fixed there
that it was some time before he could be dragged out
again.
Bruno had had time to say "I thought he wanted to
see how many peoples was up the chimbley."
And Sylvie had said ''Chimney — not chimbley."
And Bruno had said "Don't talk 'ubbish!"
All this, while the Other Professor was being extracted.
"You must have blacked your face!" the Empress said
anxiously. "Let me send for some soap?"
"Thanks, no," said the Other Professor, keeping his
face turned away. "Black's quite a respectable colour.
Besides, soap would be no use without water — "
Keeping his back well turned away from the audience,
he went on with the Introductory Verses : —
Little Birds are writing
Interesting boo\s,
To be read by coo\s:
Read, I say, not roasted —
hetter press, when toasted,
hoses its good loo\s.
Little Birds are playing
Bagpipes on the shore.
Where the tourists snore:
*'Than/^s!" they cry. ' 'Tis thrilling!
THE PIG-TALE 729
Ta\e, oh ta\e this shilling!
Let us have no moreV
Little Birds are bathing
Crocodiles in cream,
Like a happy dream:
Li\e, but not so lasting —
Crocodiles, tvhen fasting.
Are not all they seem!
That Camel passed, as Day grew dim
Around the ruined Pump.
"O broken heart! O broken limb!
It needs," that Camel said to him,
'* Something more fairy -like and slim.
To execute a jump!''
That Pig lay still as any stone.
And could not stir a stump:
Nor ever, if the truth were Xnown,
Was he again observed to moan,
Nor ever wring his hoofs and groan.
Because he could not jump.
That Frog made no remar\, for he
Was dismal as a dump:
He Xnew the consequence must be
That he would never get his fee —
And still he sits, in miserie.
Upon that ruined Pump!
"It's a miserable story!" said Bruno. "It begins miser-
ably, and it ends miserablier. I think I shall cry. Sylvie,
please lend me your handkerchief."
"I haven't got it with me," Sylvie whispered.
"Then I won't cry," said Bruno manfully.
"There are more Introductory Verses to come," said
730 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
the Other Professor, "but I'm hungry." He sat down,
cut a large sUce of cake, put it on Bruno's plate, and
gazed at his own empty plate in astonishment.
"Where did you get that cake?" Sylvie whispered to
Bruno.
"He gived it me," said Bruno.
"But you shouldn't ask for things? You \now you
shouldn't!"
"I didn't ask," said Bruno, taking a fresh mouthful:
"he gived it me."
Sylvie considered this for a moment : then she saw her
way out of it. "Well, then, ask him to give me some!"
"You seem to enjoy that cake?" the Professor remarked.
"Doos that mean 'munch'?" Bruno whispered to Sylvie.
Sylvie nodded. "It means 'to munch' and 'to like to
munch.' "
Bruno smiled at the Professor. "I doos enjoy it," he
said.
The Other Professor caught the word. "And I hope
you're enjoying yourself^ little Man?" he enquired.
Bruno's look of horror quite startled him. "No, indeed
I aren't!" he said.
The Other Professor looked thoroughly puzzled. "Well,
well!" he said. "Try some cowslip wine!" And he filled
a glass and handed it to Bruno. "Drink this, my dear, and
you'll be quite another man!"
"Who shall I be?" said Bruno, pausing in the act of
putting it to his lips.
"Don't ask so many questions!" Sylvie interposed, anx-
ious to save the poor old man from further bewilderment.
"Suppose we get the Professor to tell us a story."
Bruno adopted the idea with enthusiasm. ''Please do!"
he cried eagerly. "Sumfin about tigers — and bumble-bees
— and robin-redbreasts, oo knows!"
THE PIG-TALE 73I
"Why should you always have live things in stories?"
said the Professor. "Why don't you have events, or cir-
cumstances?"
"Oh, please invent a story like that!" cried Bruno.
The Professor began fluently enough. "Once a co-
incidence was taking a walk with a little accident, and
they met an explanation — a very old explanation — so old
that it was quite doubled up, and looked more like a
conundrum — " he broke of? suddenly.
''Please go on!" both children exclaimed.
The Professor made a candid confession. "It's a very
difHcult sort to invent, I find. Suppose Bruno tells one,
first."
Bruno was only too happy to adopt the suggestion.
"Once there were a Pig, and a Accordion, and two jars
of Orange-marmalade — "
"The dramatis persona^''' murmured the Professor.
"Well, what then?"
"So, when the Pig played on the Accordion," Bruno
went on, "one of the Jars of Orange-marmalade didn't
like the tune, and the other Jar of Orange-marmalade did
like the tune — I \now I shall get confused among those
Jars of Orange-marmalade, Sylvie!" he whispered anx-
iously.
"I will now recite the other Introductory Verses," said
the Other Professor.
Utile Birds are choking
Baronets with bun,
Taught to fire a gun:
Taught, I say, to splinter
Salmon in the winter —
Merely for the fun.
732
SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Little Birds are hiding
Crimes in carpet-bags,
Blessed by happy stags:
Blessed, I say, though beaten —
Since our friends are eaten
When the memory flags.
Little Birds are tasting
Gratitude and gold.
Pale with sudden cold
Pale, I say, and wrin\led —
When the bells have tingled,
And the Tale is told.
"The next thing to be done," the Professor cheerfully
remarked to the Lord Chancellor, as soon as the applause,
caused by the recital of the Pig-Tale, had come to an
end, "is to drink the Emperor's health, is it not?"
"Undoubtedly!" the Lord Chancellor replied with
much solemnity, as he rose to his feet to give the neces-
sary directions for the ceremony. "Fill your glasses!" he
thundered. All did so, instantly. "Drink the Emperor's
health!" A general gurgling resounded all through the
Hall. "Three cheers for the Emperor!" The faintest pos-
sible sound followed this announcement: and the Chan-
cellor, with admirable presence of mind, instantly pro-
claimed "A speech from the Emperor!"
The Emperor had begun his speech almost before the
words were uttered. "However unwilling to be Emperor
— since you all wish me to be Emperor — you know how
badly the late Warden managed things — with such en-
thusiasm as you have shown — he persecuted you — he
taxed you too heavily — you know who is fittest man to
be Emperor — my brother had no sense — ."
How long this curious speech might have lasted it is
THE PIG-TALE 733
impossible to say, for just at this moment a hurricane
shook the palace to its foundations, bursting open the
windows, extinguishing some of the lamps, and filling
the air with clouds of dust, which took strange shapes in
the air, and seemed to form words.
But the storm subsided as suddenly as it had risen —
the casements swung into their places again: the dust
vanished: all was as it had been a minute ago — with the
exception of the Emperor and Empress, over whom had
come a wondrous change. The vacant stare, the meaning-
less smile, had passed away: all could see that these two
strange beings had returned to their senses.
The Emperor continued his speech as if there had been
no interruption. "And we have behaved — my wife and I
— like two arrant Knaves. We deserve no better name.
When my brother went away, you lost the best Warden
you ever had. And I've been doing my best, wretched
hypocrite that I am, to cheat you into making me an Em-
peror. Me! One that has hardly got the wits to be a shoe-
black!"
The Lord Chancellor wrung his hands in despair. "He
is mad, good people!" he was beginning. But both
speeches stopped suddenly — and, in the dead silence that
followed, a knocking was heard at the outer door.
"What is it?" was the general cry. People began run-
ning in and out. The excitement increased every moment.
The Lord Chancellor, forgetting all the rules of Court-
ceremony, ran full speed down the hall, and in a minute
returned, pale and gasping for breath.
Chapter XXIV
The Beggar's Return
''Your Imperial Highnesses!" he began. "It's the old
Beggar again! Shall we set the dogs at him?"
"Bring him here!" said the Emperor.
The Chancellor could scarcely believe his ears. ''Here,
your Imperial Highness? Did I rightly understand — "
"Bring him here!" the Emperor thundered once more.
The Chancellor tottered down the hall — and in another
minute the crowd divided, and the poor old Beggar was
seen entering the Banqueting-Hall.
He was indeed a pitiable object: the rags, that hung
about him, were all splashed with mud: his white hair
and his long beard were tossed about in wild disorder.
Yet he walked upright, with a stately tread, as if used
to command: and — strangest sight of all — Sylvie and
Bruno came with him, clinging to his hands, and gazing
at him with looks of silent love.
Men looked eagerly to see how the Emperor would
receive the bold intruder. Would he hurl him from the
steps of the dais? But no. To their utter astonishment,
the Emperor knelt as the beggar approached, and with
bowed head murmured "Forgive us!"
"Forgive us!" the Empress, kneeling at her husband's
side, meekly repeated.
The Outcast smiled. "Rise up!" he said. "I forgive
you!" And men saw with wonder that a change had
passed over the old beggar, even as he spoke. What had
seemed, but now, to be vile rags and splashes of mud,
were seen to be in truih kingly trappings, broidered with
gold, and sparkling with gems. All knew him now, and
bent low before the Elder Brother, the true Warden.
734
THE BEGGAR S RETURN 735
"Brother mine, and Sister mine!" the Warden began,
in a clear voice that was heard all through that vast hall.'
"I come not to disturb you. Rule on, as Emperor, and
rule wisely. For I am chosen King of Elfland. Tomorrow
I return there, taking nought from hence, save only —
save only — " he voice trembled, and with a look of in-
effable tenderness, he laid his hands in silence on the
heads of the two little ones who clung around him.
But he recovered himself in a moment, and beckoned
to the Emperor to resume his place at the table. The
company seated themselves again — room being found for
the Elfin-King between his two children — and the Lord
Chancellor rose once more, to propose the next toast.
"The next toast — the hero of the day — why, he isn't
here!" he broke off in wild confusion.
Good gracious! Everybody had forgotten Prince Ug-
gug!
"He was told of the Banquet, of course?" said the
Emperor.
"Undoubtedly!" replied the Chancellor. ''That would
be the duty of the Gold Stick in Waiting."
"Let the Gold Stick come forwards!" the Emperor
gravely said.
The Gold Stick came forwards. "I attended on His
Imperial Fatness," was the statement made by the trem-
bling official. "I told him of the Lecture and the Ban-
quet—."
"What followed?" said the Emperor: for the unhappy
man seemed almost too frightened to go on,
"His Imperial Fathess was graciously pleased to be
sulky. His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to box
my ears. His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to
say 'I don't care!' "
736 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
" *Don't-care' came to a bad end," Sylvie whispered to
Bruno. "I'm not sure, but I believe he was hanged."
The Professor overheard her. ''That result," he blandly
remarked, "was merely a case of mistaken identity."
Both children looked puzzled.
"Permit me to explain. 'Don't-care' and *Care' were
twin-brothers. 'Care,' you know, killed the Cat. And they
caught 'Don't-care' by mistake, and hanged him instead.
And so 'Care' is alive still. But he's very unhappy with-
out his brother. That's why they say 'Begone, dull Care!' "
"Thank you!" Sylvie said, heartily. "It's very extremely
interesting. Why, it seems to explain everything!''
"Well, not quite everything^' the Professor modestly
rejoined. "There are two or three scientific difficulties — "
"What was your general impression as to His Imperial
Fatness?" the Emperor asked the Gold Stick.
"My impression was that His Imperial Fatness was
getting more — "
"More what?"
All listened breathlessly for the next word.
"More prickly!"
"He must be sent for at once!" the Emperor exclaimed.
And the Gold Stick went oflf like a shot. The Elfin-King
sadly shook his head. "No use, no use!" he murmured
to himseif. "Loveless, loveless!"
Pale, trembling, speechless, the Gold Stick came slowly
back again.
"Well?" said the Emperor. "Why does not the Prince
appear?"
"One can easily guess," said the Professor. "His Im-
perial Fatness is, without doubt, a little preoccupied."
Bruno turned a look of solemn enquiry on his old
friend. "What do that word mean?"
THE BEGGAR S RETURN 737
But the Professor took no notice of the question. He
was eagerly Hstening to the Gold Stick's reply.
"Please your Highness! His Imperial Fatness is — " Not
a word more could he utter.
The Empress rose in an agony of alarm. "Let us go
to him!" she cried. And there was a general rush for the
door.
Bruno slipped off his chair in a moment. "May we go
too?" he eagerly asked. But the King did not hear the
question, as the Professor was speaking to him. ''Preoc-
cupied^ your Majesty!" he was saying. "That is what he
is, no doubt!"
"May we go and see him?" Bruno repeated. The King
nodded assent, and the children ran off. In a minute or
two they returned, slowly and gravely. "Well?" said the
King. "What's the matter with the Prince?"
"He's — what you said," Bruno replied looking at the
Professor. "That hard word." And he looked to Sylvie
for assistance.
"Porcupine," said Sylvie.
"No, no!" the Professor corrected her. " 'Pre-occupied,'
you mean."
"No, it's porcupine,'' persisted Sylvie. "Not that other
word at all. And please will you come? The house is all
in an uproar." ("And oo'd better bring an uproar-glass
wiz oo!" added Bruno.)
We got up in great haste, and followed the children
upstairs. No one took the least notice of me, but I wasn't
at all surprised at this, as I had long realised that I was
quite invisible to them all — even to Sylvie and Bruno.
All along the gallery, that led to the Prince's apart-
ment, an excited crowd was surging to and fro, and the
Babel of voices was deafening: against the door of the
738 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
room three strong men were leaning, vainly trying to shut
it — for some great animal inside was constantly burst-
ing it half open, and we had a glimpse, before the men
could push it back again, of the head of a furious wild
beast, with great fiery eyes and gnashing teeth. Its voice
was a sort of mixture — there was the roaring of a lion,
and the bellowing of a bull, and now and then a scream
like a gigantic parrot. "There is no judging by the voice!"
the Professor cried in great excitement. "What is it?" he
shouted to the men at the door. And a general chorus
of voices answered him "Porcupine! Prince Uggug has
turned into a Porcupine!"
"A new Specimen!" exclaimed the delighted Professor.
"Pray let me go in. It should be labeled at once!"
But the strong men only pushed him back. "Label it,
indeed! Do you want to be eaten up?" they cried.
"Never mind about Specimens, Professor!" said the
Emperor, pushing his way through the crowd. "Tell us
how to keep him safe!"
"A large cage!" the Professor promptly replied. "Bring
a large cage," he said to the people generally, "with strong
bars of steel, and a portcullis made to go up and down
like a mouse-trap! Does anyone happen to have such a
thing about him?"
It didn't sound a likely sort of thing for anyone to have
about him; however, they brought him one directly:
curiously enough, there happened to be one standing in
the gallery.
"Put it facing the opening of the door, and draw up
the portcullis!" This was done in a moment.
"Blankets now!" cried the Professor. "This is a most
interesting Experiment!"
There happened to be a pile of blankets close by: and
THE BEGGAR S RETURN 739
the Professor had hardly said the word, when they were
all unfolded and held up like curtains all around. The
Professor rapidly arranged them in two rows, so as to
make a dark passage, leading straight from the door to
the mouth of the cage.
"Now fling the door open!" This did not need to be
done : the three men had only to leap out of the way, and
the fearful monster flung the door open for itself, and,
with a yell like the whistle of a steam-engine, rushed into
the cage.
"Down with the portcullis!" No sooner said than done:
and all breathed freely once more, on seeing the Porcu-
pine safely caged.
The Professor rubbed his hands in childish delight.
"The Experiment has succeeded!" he proclaimed. "All
that is needed now is to feed it three times a day, on
chopped carrots and — ."
"Never mind about its food, just now!" the Emperor
interrupted. "Let us return to the Banquet. Brother, will
you lead the way?" And the old man, attended by his
children, headed the procession down stairs. "See the fate
of a loveless life!" he said to Bruno, as they returned to
their places. To which Bruno made reply, "I always loved
Sylvie, so I'll never get prickly like that!"
"He is prickly, certainly," said the Professor, who had
caught the last words, "but we must remember that, how-
ever porcupiny, he is royal still! After this feast is over,
I'm going to take a little present to Prince Uggug — just
to soothe him, you know: it isn't pleasant living in a
cage."
"What'll you give him for a birthday-present?" Bruno
enquired.
"A small saucer of chopped carrots," replied the Pro-
740 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
fessor. "In giving birthday-presents, my motto is — cheap-
ness! I should think I save forty pounds a year by giving
— oh, what a twinge of pain!"
"What is it?" said Syivie anxiously.
"My old enemy!" groaned the Professor. "Lumbago —
rheumatism — that sort of thing. I think Til go and lie
down a bit." And he hobbled out of the Saloon, watched
by the pitying eyes of the two children.
"He'll be better soon!" the Elfin-King said cheerily.
"Brother!" turning to the Emperor, "I have some busi-
ness to arrange with you to-night. The Empress will take
care of the children." And the two Brothers went away
together, arm-in-arm.
The Empress found the children rather sad company.
They could talk of nothing but "the dear Professor," and
"what a pity he's so ill!", till at last she made the welcome
proposal "Let's go and see him!"
The children eagerly grasped the hands she offered
them: and we went off to the Professor's study, and
found him lying on the sofa, covered up with blankets,
and reading a little manuscript-book. "Notes on Vol.
Three!" he murmured, looking up at us. And there, on a
table near him, lay the book he was seeking when first I
saw him.
"And how are you now. Professor?" the Empress asked,
bending over the invalid.
The Professor looked up, and smiled feebly. "As de-
voted to your Imperial Highness as ever!" he said in a
weak voice. "All of me, that is not Lumbago, is Loyalty!"
"A sweet sentiment!" the Empress exclaimed with tears
in her eyes. "You seldom hear anything so beautiful as
that — even in a Valentine!"
"We must take you to stay at the seaside," Syivie said,
THE BEGGAR S RETURN 74I
tenderly. "It'll do you ever so much good! And the Sea's
so grand!"
"But a Mountain's grander!" said Bruno.
"What is there grand about the Sea?" said the Profes-
sor. "Why, you could put it all into a teacup!"
''Some o£ it," Sylvie corrected him.
"Well, you'd only want a certain number of tea-cups to
hold it all. And then where's the grandeur ? Then as to a
Mountain — why, you could carry it all away in a wheel-
barrow, in a certain number of years!"
"It wouldn't look grand — the bits of it in the wheel-
barrow," Sylvie candidly admitted.
"But when 00 put it together again — " Bruno began.
"When you're older," said the Professor, "you'll know
that you cant put Mountains together again so easily!
One lives and one learns, you know!"
"But it needn't be the same one, need it?" said Bruno.
"Wo'n't it do, if / live, and if Sylvie learns?"
1 cant learn without living!" said Sylvie.
But I can live without learning!" Bruno retorted. "Oo
just try me!"
"What I meant, was — " the Professor began, looking
much puzzled, " — was — that you don't know everything,
you know."
"But I do know everything I know!" persisted the little
fellow. "I know ever so many things! Everything, 'cept
the things I dont know. And Sylvie knows all the rest."
The Professor sighed, and gave it up. "Do you know
what a Boojum is?"
"/ know!" cried Bruno. "It's the thing what wrenches
people out of their boots!"
"He means ^bootjack,' " Sylvie explained in a whisper.
"You ca'n't wrench people out of boots,'' the Professor
mildly observed.
C«"
a-
742 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
Bruno laughed saucily. "Oo can^ though! Unless they're
welly tight in."
"Once upon a time there was a Boojum — " the Profes-
sor began, but stopped suddenly. "I forget the rest of the
Fable," he said. "And there was a lesson to be learned
from it. I'm afraid I forget that^ too."
"77/ tell oo a Fable!" Bruno began in a great hurry.
"Once there were a Locust, and a Magpie, and a Engine'
driver. And the Lesson is, to learn to get up early — "
"It isn't a bit interesting!" Sylvie said contemptuously.
"You shouldn't put the Lesson so soon."
"When did you invent that Fable?" said the Profes-
sor. "Last week?"
"No!" said Bruno. "A deal shorter ago than that. Guess
agam!
"I ca'n't guess," said the Professor. "How long ago?"
"Why, it isn't invented yet!" Bruno exclaimed triumph-
antly. "But I have invented a lovely one! Shall I say it?"
"If you've finished inventing it," said Sylvie. "And let
the Lesson be *to try again'!"
"No,' 'said Bruno with great decision. "The Lesson are
'not to try again'!" "Once there were a lovely china man,
what stood on the chimbley-piece. And he stood, and he
stood. And one day he tumbleded ofiE, and he didn't hurt
his self one bit. Only he would try again. And the next
time he tumbleded off, he hurted his self welly much, and
breaked off ever so much varnish."
"But how did he come back on the chimney-piece after
his first tumble?" said the Empress. (It was the first sens-
ible question she had asked in all her life.)
"/ put him there!" cried Bruno.
"Then I'm afraid you know something about his tum-
bling," said the Professor. "Perhaps you pushed him?"
To which Bruno replied, very seriously, "Didn't pushed
THE BEGGAR S RETURN 743
him much — he were a lovely china man," he added hast-
ily, evidendy very anxious to change the subject.
"Come, my children!" said the Elfin-King, who had
just entered the room. "We must have a little chat to-
gether, before you go to bed." And he was leading them
away, but at the door they let go his hands, and ran back
again to wish the Professor good night.
"Good night. Professor, good night!" And Bruno sol-
emnly shook hands with the old man, who gazed at him
with a loving smile, while Sylvie bent down to press her
sweet lips upon his forehead.
"Good night, little ones!" said the Professor. "You may
leave me now — to ruminate. Fm as jolly as the day is long,
except when it's necessary to ruminate on some very dif-
ficult subject. All of me,' 'he murmured sleepily as we
left the room, "all of me, that isn't Bonhommie^ is Ru-
mination!"
"What did he say, Bruno?" Sylvie enquired, as soon as
we were safely out of hearing.
"I thin\ he said 'All of me that isn't Bone-disease is
Rheumatism.' Whatever are that knocking, Sylvie .f^"
Sylvie stopped, and listened anxiously. It sounded like
some one kicking at a door. "I hope it isn't that Porcupine
breaking loose!" she exclaimed.
"Let's go on!" Bruno said hastily. "There's nuffin to
wait for, oo know!"
Chapter XXV
Life Out of Death
The sound of kicking, or knocking, grew louder every
moment: and at last a door opened somewhere near us.
"Did you say 'come in!' Sir?" my landlady asked timidly.
"Oh yes, come in!" I replied. "What's the matter?"
"A note has just been left for you, Sir, by the baker's
boy. He said he was passing the Hall, and they asked him
to come round and leave it here."
The note contained five words only. "Please come at
once. Muriel."
A sudden terror seemed to chill my very heart. "The
Earl is ill!" I said to myself. "Dying, perhaps!" And I
hastily prepared to leave the house.
"No bad news. Sir, I hope?" my landlady said, as she
saw me out. "The boy said as some one had arrived unex-
pectedly— ."
"I hope that is it!" I said. But my feelings were those of
fear rather than of hope : though, on entering the house, I
was somewhat reassured by finding luggage lying in the
entrance, bearing the initials "E. L."
"It's only Eric Lindon after all!" I thought, half re-
lieved and half annoyed. "Surely she need not have sent
for me for that!''
Lady Muriel met me in the passage. Her eyes were
gleaming — but it was the excitement of joy, rather than
of grief. "I have a surprise for you!" she whispered.
"You mean that Eric Lindon is here?" I said, vainly
trying to disguise the involuntary bitterness of my tone.
" 'The funeral ba\ed meats did coldly furnish forth the
marriage-tables y " I could not help repeating to myself.
How cruelly I was misjudging her!
744
LIFE OUT OF DEATH 745
"N05 no!" she eagerly replied. "At least — Eric is here.
But — ^," her voice quivered, "but there is anotherT
No need for further question. I eagerly followed her in.
There on the bed, he lay — pale and worn — the mere sha-
dow of his old self — my old friend come back again from
the dead!
"Arthur!" I exclaimed. I could not say another word.
"Yes, back again, old boy!" he murmured, smiling as I
grasped his hand. ''He,'' indicating Eric, who stood near,
"saved my life — He brought me back. Next to God, we
must thank him, Muriel, my wife!"
Silently I shook hands with Eric and with the Earl : and
with one consent we moved into the shaded side of the
room, where we could talk without disturbing the invalid,
who lay, silent and happy, holding his wife's hand in his,
and watching her with eyes that shone with the deep
steady light of Love.
"He has been delirious till to-day," Eric explained in a
low voice : "and even to-day he has been wandering more
than once. But the sight of her has been new life to him."
And then he went on to tell us, in would-be careless
tones — I knew how he hated any display of feeling — how
he had insisted on going back to the plague-stricken town,
to bring away a man whom the doctor had abandoned as
dying, but who might, he fancied, recover if brought to
the hospital: how he had seen nothing in the wasted
features to remind him of Arthur, and only recognised
him when he visited the hospital a month after : how the
doctor had forbidden him to announce the discovery, say-
ing that any shock to the over-taxed brain might kill him
at once : how he had staid on at the hospital, and nursed
the sick man by night and day — all this with the studied
indifference of one who is relating the commonplace acts
of some chance acquaintance!
746 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
"And this was his rivair I thought. "The man who had
won from him the heart of the woman he loved!"
"The sun is setting/' said Lady Muriel, rising and lead-
ing the way to the open window. "Just look at the western
sky! What lovely crimson tints! We shall have a glorious
day to-morrow — " We had followed her across the room,
and were standing in a little group, talking in low tones
in the gathering gloom, when we were startled by the
voice of the sick man, murmuring words too indistinct
for the ear to catch.
"He is wandering again," Lady Muriel whispered, and
returned to the bedside. We drew a little nearer also : but
no, this had none of the incoherence of delirium. ''What
reward shall I give unto the Lordy' the tremulous lips
were saying, "/or all the benefits that He hath done unto
me? I will receive the cup of salvation, and call — and
call — " but here the poor weakened memory failed, and
the feeble voice died into silence.
His wife knelt down at the bedside, raised one of his
arms, and drew it across her own, fondly kissing the thin
white hand that lay so listlessly in her loving grasp. It
seemed to me a good opportunity for stealing away with-
out making her go through any form of parting: so,
nodding to the Earl and Eric, I silently left the room.
Eric followed me down the stairs, and out into the night.
"Is it Life or Death?" I asked him, as soon as we were
far enough from the house for me to speak in ordinary
tones.
"It is Lifer he replied with eager emphasis. "The doc-
tors are quite agreed as to that. All he needs now, they
say, is rest, and perfect quiet, and good nursing. He's
quite sure to get rest and quiet, here : and, as for the nurs-
ing, why, I think it's just possible — " (he tried hard to
make his trembling voice assume a playful tone) "he
LIFE OUT OF DEATH 747
may even get fairly well nursed, in his present quarters!"
"I'm sure of it!" I said. "Thank you so much for com-
ing out to tell me!" And, thinking he had now said all
he had come to say, I held out my hand to bid him good
night. He grasped it warmly, and added, turning his
face away as he spoke, "By the way, there is one other
thing I wanted to say. I thought you'd like to know that
— that I'm not — not in the mind I was in when last we
met. It isn't — that I can accept Christian belief — at least,
not yet. But all this came about so strangely. And she had
prayed, you know. And I had prayed. And — and" his
voice broke, and I could only just catch the concluding
words, "there is a God that answers prayer! I know it for
certain now." He wrung my hand once more, and left me
suddenly. Never before had I seen him so deeply moved.
So, in the gathering twilight, I paced slowly home-
wards, in a tumultuous whirl of happy thoughts: my
heart seemed full, and running over, with joy and thank-
fulness : all that I had so fervently longed for, and prayed
for, seemed now to have come to pass. And, though I re-
proached myself, bitterly, for the unworthy suspicion I
had for one moment harboured against the true-hearted
Lady Muriel, I took comfort in knowing it had been but
a passing thought.
Not Bruno himself could have mounted the stairs with
so buoyant a step, as I felt my way up in the dark, not
pausing to strike a light in the entry, as I knew I had left
the lamp burning in my sitting-room.
But it was no common lamplight into which I now
stepped, with a strange, new, dreamy sensation of some
subtle witchery that had come over the place. Light, rich-
er and more golden than any lamp could give, flooded the
room, streaming in from a w^indow I had somehow never
noticed before, and lighting up a group of three shadowy
748 SYLVIE AND BRUNO CONCLUDED
figures, that grew momently more distinct — a grave old
man in royal robes, leaning back in an easy chair, and two
children, a girl and a boy, standing at his side.
"Have you the Jewel still, my child?" the old man was
saying.
"Oh, yes!'' Sylvie exclaimed with unusual eagerness.
"Do you think I'd et/er lose it or forget it?" She undid the
ribbon round her neck, as she spoke, and laid the Jewel
in her father's hand.
Bruno looked at it admiringly. "What a lovely bright-
ness!" he said. "It's just like a little red star! May I take it
in my hand?"
Sylvie nodded : and Bruno carried it off to the window,
and held it aloft against the sky, whose deepening blue
was already spangled with stars. Soon he came running
back in some excitement. "Sylvie! Look here!" he cried.
"I can see right through it when I hold it up to the sky.
And it isn't red a bit: it's, oh such a lovely blue! And the
words are all different! Do look at it!"
Sylvie was quite excited, too, by this time; and the two
children eagerly held up the Jewel to the light, and spelled
out the legend between them, "all will love sylvie."
"Why, this is the other Jewel!" cried Bruno. "Don't you
remember, Sylvie? The one you didn't choose!"
Sylvie took it from him, with a puzzled look, and held
it, now up to the light, now down. "It's blue, one way,"
she said softly to herself, "and it's red the other way! Why,
I thought there were two of them — Father!" she sud-
denly exclaimed, laying the Jewel once more in his hand,
"I do believe it was the same Jewel all the time!"
"Then you choosed it from itself ^'^ Bruno thoughtfully
remarked. "Father, could Sylvie choose a thing from it-
self?"
"Yes, my own one," the old man replied to Sylvie, not
LIFE OUT OF DEATH 749
noticing Bruno's embarrassing question, "it was the same
Jewel — but you chose quite right." And he fastened the
ribbon round her neck again.
"SYLVIE WILL LOVE ALL — ALL WILL LOVE SYLVIE." BrUUO
murmured, raising himself on tiptoe to kiss the "little
red star." "And, when you look at it, it's red and fierce like
the sun — and, when you look through it, it's gentle and
blue like the sky!"
''God's own sky," Sylvie said, dreamily.
"God's own sky," the little fellow repeated, as they
stood, lovingly clinging together, and looking out into
the night. "But oh, Sylvie, what makes the sky such a
darling blue?"
Sylvie's sweet lips shaped themselves to reply, but her
voice sounded faint and very far away. The vision was
fast slipping from my eager gaze : but it seemed to me, in
that last bewildering moment, that not Sylvie but an
angel was looking out through those trustful brown eyes,
and that not Sylvie's but an angel's voice was whispering
"it is LOVE."
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PREFACE TO
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK
/f — and the thing is wildly possible — the charge o£
writing nonsense were ever brought against the author of
this brief but instructive poem, it would be based, I feel
convinced, on the line (in p. 761)
"Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes:
9r
In view of this painful possibility, I will not (as I might)
appeal indignantly to my other writings as a proof that I
am incapable of such a deed: I will not (as I might) point
to the strong moral purpose of this poem itself, to the
arithmetical principles so cautiously inculcated in it, or to
its noble teachings in Natural History — I will take the
more prosaic course of simply explaining how it hap-
pened.
The Bellman, who was almost morbidly sensitive about
appearances, used to have the bowsprit unshipped once or
twice a week to be revarnished; and it more than once
happened, when the time came for replacing it, that no
one on board could remember which end of the ship it-
belonged to. They knew it was not of the slightest use to
I appeal to the Bellman about it — he would only refer to
his Naval Code, and read out in pathetic tones Admiralty
Instructions which none of them had ever been able to
understand — so it generally ended in its being fastened
753
754 VERSE
on, anyhow, across the rudder. The helmsman ^ used to
stand by with tears in his eyes : he knew it was all wrong,
but alas! Rule 42 of the Code, ''No one shall spea\ to the
Man at the Helm,'' had been completed by the Bellman
himself with the words ''and the Man at the Helm shall
speaf{ to no oneT So remonstrance was impossible, and no
steering could be done till the next varnishing day. Dur-
ing these bewildering intervals the ship usually sailed
backwards.
As this poem is to some extent connected with the lay
of the Jabberwock, let me take this opportunity of answer-
ing a question that has often been asked me, how to pro-
nounce "slithy toves." The "i" in "slithy" is long, as in
"writhe"; and "toves" is pronounced so as to rhyme with
"groves." Again, the first "o" in "borogoves" is pro-
nounced like the "o" in "borrow." I have heard people
try to give it the sound of the "o" in "worry." Such is
Human Perversity.
This also seems a fitting occasion to notice the other
hard words in that poem. Humpty-Dumpty's theory, of
two meanings packed into one word like a portmanteau,
seems to me the right explanation for all.
For instance, take the two words "fuming" and "furi-
ous." Make up your mind that you will say both words,
but leave it unsettled which you will say first. Now open
your mouth and speak. If your thoughts incline ever so
little towards "fuming," you will say "fuming-furious";
if they turn, by even a hair's breadth, towards "furious,"
you will say "furious-fuming"; but if you have that rarest
of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say "frum-
lOUS.
* This office was usually undertaken by the Boots, who found in it
a refuge from the Baker's constant complaints about the insufficient
blacking of his three pairs of boots.
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 755
Supposing that, when Pistol uttered the well-known
words —
*'Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die!"
Justice Shallow had felt certain that it was either Wil-
liam or Richard, but had not been able to settle which, so
that he could not possibly say either name before the
other, can it be doubted that, rather than die, he would
have gasped out "Rilchiam!"
756 VERSE
INSCRIBED TO A DEAR CHILD:
IN MEMORY OF GOLDEN SUMMER HOURS
AND WHISPERS OF A SUMMER SEA
Girt with a boyish garb for boyish tas\,
Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well
Rest on a friendly \nee, intent to as\
The tale \he loves to tell.
Rude spirits of the seething outer strife,
Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,
Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life.
Empty of all delightl
Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy
Hearts that by wiser tal\ are unbeguiled.
Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,
T'he heart-love of a child!
Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!
Wor\ claims my wakeful nights, my busy d ays-
Alb eit bright memories of that sunlit shore
Yet haunt my dreaming gaze!
THE HUNTING OF THE
SNARK
Fit the First
The Landing
''Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried,
As he landed his crew with care;
Supporting each man on the top o£ the tide
By a finger entwined in his hair.
"Just the place for a Snark! I have said it twice:
That alone should encourage the crew.
Just the place for a Snark! I have said it thrice:
What I tell vou three times is true."
The crew was complete: it included a Boots —
A maker of Bonnets and Hoods —
A Barrister, brought to arrange their disputes-
And a Broker, to value their goods.
A Billiard-marker, whose skill was immense,
Might perhaps have won more than his share —
But a Banker, engaged at enormous expense.
Had the whole of their cash in his care.
There was also a Beaver, that paced on the deck,
Or would sit making lace in the bow:
And had often (the Bellman said) saved them from
wreck
Though none of the sailors knew how.
757
758 VERSE
There was one who was famed for the number of things
He forgot when he entered the ship:
His umbrella, his watch, all his jewels and rings.
And the clothes he had bought for the trip.
He had forty-two boxes, all carefully packed,
With his name painted clearly on each:
But, since he omitted to mention the fact,
They were all left behind on the beach.
The loss of his clothes hardly mattered, because
He had seven coats on when he came.
With three pair of boots — but the worst of it was,
He had wholly forgotten his name.
He would answer to ''Hi!" or to any loud cry.
Such as "Fry me!" or "Fritter my wig!"
To "What-you-may-call-um!" or "What-was-his-name^"
But especially "Thing-um-a-jig!"
While, for those who preferred a more forcible word,
He had different names from these:
His intimate friends called him "Candle-ends,"
And his enemies "Toasted-cheese."
"His form is ungainly — his intellect small — "
(So the Bellman would often remark) —
"But his courage is perfect! And that, after all,
Is the thing that one needs with a Snark."
He would joke with hyaenas, returning their stare
With an impudent wag of the head:
And he once went a walk, paw-in-paw, with a bear,
"Just to keep up its spirits," he said.
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 759
He came as a Baker : but owned, when too late —
And it drove the poor Bellman half-mad —
He could only bake Bride-cake — for which, I may state,
No materials were to be had.
The last of the crew needs especial remark,
Though he looked an incredible dunce:
He had just one idea — but, that one being "Snark,"
The good Bellman engaged him at once.
He came as a Butcher: but gravely declared.
When the ship had been sailing a week,
He could only kill Beavers. The Bellman looked scared,
And was almost too frightened to speak:
But at length he explained, in a tremulous tone.
There was only one Beaver on board;
And that was a tame one he had of his own,
Whose death would be deeply deplored.
The Beaver, who happened to hear the remark.
Protested, with tears in its eyes.
That not even the rapture of hunting the Snark
Could atone for that dismal surprise!
It strongly advised that the Butcher should be
Conveyed in a separate ship:
But the Bellman declared that would never agree
With the plans he had made for the trip:
Navigation was always a difficult art.
Though with only one ship and one bell:
And he feared he must really decline, for his part,
Undertaking another as well.
760 VERSE
The Beaver's best course was, no doubt, to procure
A second-hand dagger-proof coat —
So the Baker advised it — and next, to insure
Its Hfe in some Office of note:
This the Banker suggested, and offered for hire
(On moderate terms), or for sale.
Two excellent Policies, one Against Fire
And one Against Damage From Hail.
Yet still, ever after that sorrowful day,
Whenever the Butcher was by.
The Beaver kept looking the opposite way,
And appeared unaccountably shy.
Fit the Second
The Bellman's Speech
The Bellman himself they all praised to the skies —
Such a carriage, such ease and such grace!
Such solemnity, too! One could see he was wise.
The moment one looked in his face!
He had bought a large map representing the sea.
Without the least vestige of land:
And the crew were much pleased when they found it to be
A map they could all understand.
"What's the good of Mercator's North Poles and Equa-
tors,
Tropics, Zones, and Meridian Lines?"
So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply
"They are merely conventional signs!
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 761
"Other maps are such shapes, with their islands and capes!
But we've got our brave Captain to thank"
(So the crew would protest) "that he's bought us the
best —
A perfect and absolute blank!"
This was charming, no doubt : but they shortly found out
That the Captain they trusted so well
Had only one notion for crossing the ocean.
And that was to tingle his bell.
He was thoughtful and grave — but the orders he gave
Were enough to bewilder a crew.
When he cried "Steer to starboard, but keep her head
\
larboard!"
What on earth was the helmsman to do ?
Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes
A thing, as the Bellman remarked.
That frequently happens in tropical climes,
■ When a vessel is, so to speak, "snarked."
But the principal failing occurred in the sailing,
And the Bellman, perplexed and distressed.
Said he had hoped, at least, when the wind blew due East,
That the ship would not travel due West!
But the danger was past — they had landed at last,
With their boxes, portmanteaus, and bags :
Yet at first sight the crew were not pleased with the view
Which consisted of chasms and crags.
762 VERSE
The Bellman perceived that their spirits were low.
And repeated in musical tone
Some jokes he had kept for a season of woe —
But the crew would do nothing but groan.
He served out some grog with a liberal hand,
And bade them sit down on the beach :
And they could not but own that their Captain looked
grand,
As he stood and delivered his speech.
*Triends, Romans, and countrymen, lend me your ears!"
(They were all of them fond of quotations:
So they drank to his health, and they gave him three
cheers.
While he served out additional rations).
"We have sailed many months, we have sailed many
weeks,
(Four weeks to the month you may mark).
But never as yet ('tis your Captain who speaks)
Have we caught the least glimpse of a Snark!
"We have sailed many weeks, we have sailed many days,
(Seven days to the week I allow).
But a Snark, on the which we might lovingly gaze.
We have never beheld till now!
'Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again
The five unmistakable marks
By which you may know, wheresoever you go,
The warranted genuine Snarks.
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 763
"Let us take them in order. The first is the taste.
Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp:
Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist,
p With a flavour of Will-o'-the-Wisp.
"Its habit of getting up late you'll agree
That it carries too far, when I say
That it frequently breakfasts at five-o'clock tea,
And dines on the following day.
"The third is its slowness in taking a jest.
Should you happen to venture on one.
It will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed:
And it always looks grave at a pun.
"The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines.
Which it constantly carries about.
And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes-
A sentiment open to doubt.
"The fifth is ambition. It next will be right
To describe each particular batch:
Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite.
From those" that have whiskers, and scratch.
"For, although common Snarks do no manner of harm^
Yet I feel it my duty to say
Some are Boojums — " The Bellman broke off in alarm.
For the Baker had fainted away.
764 VERSE
Fit the Third
The Baker's Tale
They roused him with muffins — they roused him with
ice —
They roused him with mustard and cress —
They roused him with jam and judicious advice —
They set him conundrums to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he oflfered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
And excitedly tingled his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream.
Scarcely even a howl or a groan.
As the man they called "Ho!" told his story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
*'My father and mother were honest, though poor — "
"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark —
We have hardly a minute to waste!"
"I skip forty years," said the Baker in tears,
"And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting the Snark.
"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade him farewell — "
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled his bell.
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 765
"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
" 'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means — you may serve it with greens
And it's handy for striking a light.
" *You may seek it with thimbles — and seek it with care
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap — ' "
("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")
" 'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away^
And never be met with again!'
"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul.
When I think of my uncle's last words :
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds!
"It is this, it is this — " "We have had that before!"
The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this that I dread!
"I engage with the Snark — every night after dark —
In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes.
And I use it for striking a light :
766 VERSE
"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away —
And the notion I cannot endure!"
Fit the Fourth
The Hunting
The Bellman looked uffish, and wrinkled his brow.
"If only you'd spoken before!
It's excessively awkward to mention it now,
With the Snark, so to speak, at the door!
"We should all of us grieve, as you well may believe.
If you never were met with again —
But surely, my man, when the voyage began.
You might have suggested it then?
"It's excessively awkward to mention it now —
As I think I've already remarked."
And the man they called "Hi!" replied, with a sigh,
"I informed you the day we embarked.
"You may charge me with murder — or want of sense-
(We are all of us weak at times) :
But the slightest approach to a false pretence
Was never among my crimes!
"I said it in Hebrew — I said it in Dutch —
I said it in German and Greek :
But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much)
That English is what you speak!"
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 767
'' Tis a pitiful tale," said the Bellman, whose face
Had grown longer at every word :
"But, now that youVe stated the whole of your case.
More debate would be simply absurd.
"The rest of my speech" (he exclaimed to his men)
"You shall hear when Fve leisure to speak it.
But the Snark is at hand, let me tell you again!
'Tis your glorious duty to seek it!
"To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care;
To pursue it with forks and hope;
To threaten its life with a railway-share;
To charm it with smiles and soap!
"For the Snark's a peculiar creature, that won't
Be caught in a commonplace way.
Do all that you know, and try all that you don't:
Not a chance must be wasted to-day!
"For England expects — I forbear to proceed :
'Tis a maxim tremendous, but trite:
And you'd best be unpacking the things that you need
To rig yourselves out for the fight."
Then the Banker endorsed a blank cheque (which he
crossed).
And changed his loose silver for notes :
The Baker with care combed his whiskers and hair.
And shook the dust out of his coats :
The Boots and the Broker were sharpening a spade —
Each working the grindstone in turn :
But the Beaver went on making lace, and displayed
No interest in the concern :
768 VERSE
Though the Barrister tried to appeal to its pride.
And vainly proceeded to cite
A number of cases, in which making laces
Had been proved an infringement of right.
The maker of Bonnets ferociously planned
A novel arrangement of bows :
While the Billiard-marker with quivering hand
Was chalking the tip of his nose.
But the Butcher turned nervous, and dressed himself fine,
With yellow kid gloves and a ruff —
Said he felt it exactly like going to dine,
Which the Bellman declared was all "stuff."
"Introduce me, now there's a good fellow," he said,
"If we happen to meet it together!"
And the Bellman, sagaciously nodding his head.
Said "That must depend on the weather."
The Beaver went simply galumphing about,
At seeing the Butcher so shy :
And even the Baker, though stupid and stout,
Made an effort to wink with one eye.
"Be a man!" cried the Bellman in wrath, as he heard
The Butcher beginning to sob.
"Should we meet with a Jubjub, that desperate bird.
We shall need all our strength for the job!"
the hunting of the snark 769
Fit the Fifth
The Beaver's Lesson
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its hfe with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
Then the Butcher contrived an ingenious plan
For making a separate sally;
A.nd had fixed on a spot unfrequented by man,
A dismal and desolate valley.
But the very same plan to the Beaver occurred :
It had chosen the very same place:
Yet neither betrayed, by a sign or a word.
The disgust that appeared in his face.
Each thought he was thinking of nothing but "Snark"
And the glorious work of the day;
And each tried to pretend that he did not remark
That the other was going that way.
But the valley grew narrow and narrower still,
And the evening got darker and colder.
Till (merely from nervousness, not from good will)
They marched along shoulder to shoulder.
Then a scream, shrill and high, rent the shuddering sky
And they knew that some danger was near:
The Beaver turned pale to the tip of its tail.
And even the Butcher felt queer.
770 VERSE
He thought of his childhood, left far behind —
That blissful and innocent state —
The sound so exactly recalled to his mind
A pencil that squeaks on a slate!
iC 9
Tis the voice of the Jubjub!" he suddenly cried.
(This man, that they used to call "Dunce.")
"As the Bellman would tell you," he added with pride,
"I have uttered that sentiment once.
" 'Tis the note of the Jubjub! Keep count, I entreat.
You will find I have told it you twice.
'Tis the song of the Jubjub! The proof is complete.
If only I've stated it thrice."
The Beaver had counted with scrupulous care,
Attending to every word :
But it fairly lost heart, and outgrabe in despair,
When the third repetition occurred.
It felt that, in spite of all possible pains.
It had somehow contrived to lose count,
And the only thing now was to rack its poor brains
By reckoning up the amount.
'Two added to one — if that could but be done,"
It said, "with one's fingers and thumbs!"
Recollecting with tears how, in earlier years.
It had taken no pains with its sums.
"The thing can be done," said the Butcher, "I think
The thing must be done, I am sure.
The thing shall be done! Bring me paper and ink,
The best there is time to procure."
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 77I
The Beaver brought paper, portfoUo, pens,
And ink in unf aiUng suppUes :
While strange creepy creatures came out of their dens,
And watched them with wondering eyes.
So engrossed was the Butcher, he heeded them not.
As he wrote with a pen in each hand.
And explained all the while in a popular style
Which the Beaver could well understand.
"Taking Three as the subject to reason about —
A convenient number to state —
We add Seven, and Ten, and then multiply out
By One Thousand diminished by Eight.
"The result we proceed to divide, as you see.
By Nine Hundred and Ninety and Two:
Then subtract Seventeen, and the answer must be
Exactly and perfectly true.
"The method employed I would gladly explain.
While I have it so clear in my head.
If I had but the time and you had but the brain —
But much yet remains to be said.
"In one moment I've seen what has hitherto been
Enveloped in absolute mystery.
And without extra charge I will give you at large
A Lesson in Natural History."
In his genial way he proceeded to say
(Forgetting all laws of propriety,
And that giving instruction, without introduction.
Would have caused quite a thrill in Society),
77^ VERSE
"As to temper the Jubjub's a desperate bird.
Since it lives in perpetual passion:
Its taste in costume is entirely absurd —
It is ages ahead of the fashion :
"But it knows any friend it has met once before:
It never will look at a bribe :
And in charity-meetings it stands at the door,
And collects — though it does not subscribe.
"Its flavour when cooked is more exquisite far
Than mutton, or oysters, or eggs:
(Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,
And some, in mahogany kegs:)
"You boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue:
You condense it with locusts and tape:
Still keeping one principal object in view —
To preserve its symmetrical shape."
The Butcher would gladly have talked till next day,
But he felt that the Lesson must end.
And he wept with delight in attempting to say
He considered the Beaver his friend :
While the Beaver confessed, with affectionate looks
More eloquent even than tears.
It had learned in ten minutes far more than all books
Would have taught it in seventy years.
They returned hand-in-hand, and the Bellman, unmanned
(For a moment) with noble emotion,
Said "This amply repays all the wearisome days
We have spent on the billowy ocean!"
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 773
Such friends, as the Beaver and Butcher became,
Have seldom if ever been know^n;
In w^inter or summer, 'twas always the same —
You could never meet either alone.
And when quarrels arose — as one frequently finds
Quarrels will, spite of every endeavour —
The song of the Jubjub recurred to their minds,
And cemented their friendship for ever!
Fit the Sixth
The Barrister's Dream
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
But the Barrister, weary of proving in vain
That the Beaver's lace-making was wrong.
Fell asleep, and in dreams saw the creature quite plain
That his fancy had dwelt on so long.
He dreamed that he stood in a shadowy Court,
Where the Snark, with a glass in its eye,
Dressed in gown, bands, and wig, was defending a pig
On the charge of deserting its sty.
The Witnesses proved, without error or flaw.
That the sty was deserted when found :
And the Judge kept explaining the state of the law
In a soft under-current of sound.
k
774 VERSE
The indictment had never been clearly expressed,
And it seemed that the Snark had begun,
And had spoken three hours, before any one guessed
What the pig was supposed to have done.
The Jury had each formed a different view
(Long before the indictment was read),
And they all spoke at once, so that none of them knew
One word that the others had said.
"You must know — " said the Judge: but the Snark ex-
claimed "Fudge!
That statute is obsolete quite!
Let me tell you, my friends, the whole question depends
On an ancient manorial right.
''In the matter of Treason the pig would appear
To have aided, but scarcely abetted:
While the charge of Insolvency fails, it is clear,
If you grant the plea 'never indebted.'
"The fact of Desertion I will not dispute :
But its guilt, as I trust, is removed
(So far as relates to the costs of this suit)
By the Alibi which has been proved.
"My poor client's fate now depends on your votes."
Here the speaker sat down in his place,
And directed the Judge to refer to his notes
And briefly to sum up the case.
But the Judge said he never had summed up before;
So the Snark undertook it instead.
And summed it so well that it came to far more
Than the Witnesses ever had said!
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 775
When the verdict was called for, the Jury declined,
As the word was so puzzling to spell;
But they ventured to hope that the Snark wouldn't mind
Undertaking that duty as well.
So the Snark found the verdict, although, as it owned,
It was spent with the toils of the day :
When it said the word "GUILTY!" the Jury all groaned
And some of them fainted away.
Then the Snark pronounced sentence, the Judge being
quite
Too nervous to utter a word :
When it rose to its feet, there was silence like night.
And the fall of a pin might be heard.
"Transportation for life" was the sentence it gave,
"And then to be fined forty pound."
The Jury all cheered, though the Judge said he feared
That the phrase was not legally sound.
But their wild exultation was suddenly checked
When the jailer informed them, with tears.
Such a sentence would have not the slightest eflfect,
As the pig had been dead for some years.
The Judge left the Court, looking deeply disgusted
But the Snark, though a little aghast.
As the lawyer to whom the defence was intrusted,
Went bellowing on to the last.
Thus the Barrister dreamed, while the bellowing seemed
To grow every moment more clear :
Till he woke to the knell of a furious bell.
Which the Bellman rang close at his ear.
776 VERSE
Fit the Seventh
The Banker's Fate
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its hfe with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
And the Banker, inspired with a courage so new
It was matter for general remark,
Rushed madly ahead and was lost to their view
In his zeal to discover the Snark.
But while he was seeking with thimbles and care,
A Bandersnatch swiftly drew nigh
And grabbed at the Banker, who shrieked in despair,
For he knew it was useless to fly.
He offered large discount — he offered a cheque
(Drawn "to bearer") for seven-pounds-ten:
But the Bandersnatch merely extended its neck
And grabbed at the Banker again.
Without rest or pause — while those frumious jaws
Went savagely snapping around —
He skipped and he hopped, and he floundered and
flopped,
Till fainting he fell to the ground.
The Bandersnatch fled as the others appeared
Led on by that fear-stricken yell :
And the Bellman remarked "It is just as I feared!"
And solemnly tolled on his bell.
THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 777
He was black in the face, and they scarcely could trace
The least likeness to what he had been:
While so great was his fright that his waistcoat turned
white —
A wonderful thing to be seen!
To the horror of all who were present that day,
He uprose in full evening dress,
And with senseless grimaces endeavoured to say
What his tongue could no longer express.
Down he sank in a chair — ran his hands through his
hair —
And chanted in mimsiest tones
Words whose utter inanity proved his insanity.
While he rattled a couple of bones.
"Leave him here to his fate — it is getting so late!"
The Bellman exclaimed in a fright.
*We have lost half the day. Any further delay.
And we sha'n't catch a Snark before night!"
Fit the Eighth
The Vanishing
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the Beaver, excited at last.
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail.
For the daylight was nearly past.
778 VERSE
"There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Bellman said.
"He is shouting like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found a Snark!"
They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
"He was always a desperate wag!"
They beheld him — their Baker — their hero unnamed —
On the top of a neighbouring crag,
Erect and sublime, for one moment of time,
In the next, that wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and listened in awe.
"It's a Snark!" was the sound that first came to their ears.
And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words "It's a Boo — "
Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air
A weary and wandering sigh
That sounded like " — jum!" but the others declare
It was only a breeze that went by.
They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark.
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.
In the midst of the word he was trying to say.
In the midst of his laughter and glee.
He had softly and suddenly vanished away —
For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.
i
EARLY VERSE
MY FAIRY
(1845)
I HAVE a fairy by my side
Which says I must not sleep,
When once in pain I loudly cried
It said "You must not weep."
If, full of mirth, I smile and grin.
It says "You must not laugh;"
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff."
When once a meal I wished to taste
It said "You must not bite;"
When to the wars I went in haste
It said "You must not fight."
"What may I do?" at length I cried,
Tired of the painful task.
The fairy quietly replied,
And said "You must not ask."
Moral: "You mustn't."
779
780 VERSE
PUNCTUALITY
Man naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put of? from day to day
Is always done too late.
Let every hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift.
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.
And when the hour arrives, be thercy
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.
If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest.
Better to be before your time.
Than e'er to be behind;
To ope the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.
Moral
Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour.
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair.
E'en from a fading flower.
EARLY VERSE 78
MELODIES
I
There was an old farmer of Readall,
Who made holes in his face with a needle.
Then went far deeper in
Than to pierce through the skin,
And yet strange to say he was made beadle.
II
There was an eccentric old draper.
Who wore a hat made of brown paper,
It went up to a point,
Yet it looked out of joint,
The cause of which he said was ^'vapour."
Ill
There was once a young man of Oporta,
Who daily got shorter and shorter.
The reason he said
Was the hod on his head.
Which was filled with the heaviest mortar.
His sister, named Lucy OTinner,
Grew constantly thinner and thinner;
The reason was plain,
She slept out in the rain.
And was never allowed any dinner.
782 VERSE
BROTHER AND SISTER
"Sister, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.
"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face apphed?"
Thus his sister calm rephed.
"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as kill a moth!"
The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked on him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"
Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."
"And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason. Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish stew."
"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'U be the contents!"
"Oh!"
"You'll lend the pan to me. Cook?"
"No!"
Moral: Never stew your sister.
EARLY VERSE 783
FACTS
Were I to take an iron gun,
And fire it off towards the sun;
I grant 'twould reach its maHfJ^t last,
But not till many years had passed.
But should that bullet change its force,
And to the planets take its course,
'Twould never reach the nearest star.
Because it is so very far.
784 VERSE
RULES AND REGULATIONS
A SHORT direction
To avoid dejection.
By variations
In occupations.
And prolongation
Of relaxation,
And combinations
Of recreations,
And disputation
On the state of the nation
In adaptation
To your station,
By invitations
To friends and relations.
By evitation
Of amputation,
By permutation
In conversation.
And deep reflection
You'll avoid dejection.
Learn well your grammar.
And never stammer,
Write well and neatly,
And sing most sweetly,
Be enterprising,
Love early rising,
Go walk of six miles,
Have ready quick smiles.
With lightsome laughter.
Soft flowing after.
Drink tea, not cofFee;
EARLY VERSE 785
Never eat toffy.
Eat bread with butter.
Once more, don't stutter.
Don't waste your money,
Abstain from honey.
Shut doors behind you,
(Don't slam them, mind you.)
Drink beer, not porter.
Don't enter the water
Till to swim you are able.
Sit close to the table.
Take care o£ a candle.
Shut a door by the handle.
Don't push with your shoulder
Until you are older.
Lose not a button.
Refuse cold mutton.
Starve your canaries.
Believe in fairies.
If you are able,
Don't have a stable
With any mangers.
Be rude to strangers.
Moral: Behave.
786 VERSE
HORRORS
(1850)
Methought I walked a dismal place
Dim horrors all around;
The air was thick with many a face,
And black as night the ground.
I saw a monster come with speed.
Its face of grimmliest green,
On human beings used to feed.
Most dreadful to be seen.
I could not speak, I could not fly,
I fell down in that place,
I saw the monster's horrid eye
Come leering in my face!
Amidst my scarcely-stifled groans.
Amidst my moanings deep,
I heard a voice, "Wake! Mr. Jones,
You're screaming in your sleep!"
EARLY VERSE 787
MISUNDERSTANDINGS
If such a thing had been my thought,
I should have told you so before,
But as I didn't, then you ought
To ask for such a thing no more,
For to teach one who has been taught
Is always thought an awful bore.
Now to commence my argument,
I shall premise an observation.
On which the greatest kings have leant
When striving to subdue a nation,
And e'en the wretch who pays no rent
By it can solve a hard equation.
Its truth is such, the force of reason
Can not avail to shake its power,
Yet e'en the sun in summer season
Doth not dispel so mild a shower
As this, and he who sees it, sees on
Beyond it to a sunny bower —
No more, when ignorance is treason,
Let wisdom's brows be cold and sour*
788 VERSE
AS IT FELL UPON A DAY
As I was sitting on the hearth
(And O, but a hog is fat!)
A man came hurrying up the path,
(And what care I for that?)
When he came the house unto,
His breath both quick and short he drew.
When he came before the door.
His face grew paler than before.
When he turned the handle round.
The man fell fainting to the ground.
When he crossed the lofty hall.
Once and again I heard him fall.
When he came up to the turret stair.
He shrieked and tore his raven hair.
When he came my chamber in,
(And O, but a hog is fat!)
I ran him through with a golden pin,
(And what care I for that?)
EARLY VERSE 789
YE FATTALE CHEYSE
Ytte wes a mirke an dreiry cave,
Weet scroggis ^ owr ytte creepe.
Gurgles withyn ye flowan wave
Throw channel braid an deep
Never withyn that dreir recesse
Wes sene ye lyghte of daye,
Quhat bode azont ^ yts mirkinesse ^
Nane kend an nane mote saye.
Ye monarche rade owr brake an brae
An drave ye yellynge packe,
Hiz meany ^ au' richte cadgily ^
Are wendynge^ yn hiz tracke.
Wi' eager iye, wi' yalpe an crye
Ye hondes yode ^ down ye rocks,
Ahead o£ au' their companye
Kenneth ye panky ^ foxe.
Ye foxe hes soughte that cave of awe
Forewearied ^ wi* hiz rin.
Quha nou ys he sae bauld an braw ^^
To dare to enter yn ?
Wi' eager bounde hes ilka honde
Gane till that caverne dreir,
Fou ^^ many a yowl -^^ ys ^^ hearde arounde,
Fou ^^ many a screech of feir.
* bushes. ^ cunning.
* beyond. ® much wearied.
^ darkness, *** brave.
* company. " full.
^ merrily. " howl.
* going journeying. *^ is.
' went.
790 VERSE
Like ane wi' thirstie appetite
Quha swalloweth orange pulp,
Wes hearde a huggle an a bite,
A swallow an a gulp.
Ye kynge hes lap frae aff hiz steid,
Outbrayde ^ hiz trenchant brande;
"Quha on my packe of hondes doth feed,
Maun deye benead thilke hande."
Sae sed, sae dune : ye stonderes ^ hearde
Fou many a mickle ^ stroke,
Sowns ^ lyke ye flappynge of a birde,
A struggle an a choke.
Owte of ye cave scarce f ette ^ they ytte,
Wi pow ^ an push and hau' ^ —
Whereof YVe drawne a littel bytte,
Bot durst not draw ytte au.^
^ drawn.
^ bystanders.
^ heavy.
^ sounds.
^ fetched.
' pull.
^ haul,
^all.
EARLY VERSE 79I
LAYS OF SORROW
No. I
The day was wet, the rain fell souse
Like jars of strawberry jam/ a
Sound was heard in the old henhouse,
A beating of a hammer.
Of stalwart form, and visage warm,
Two youths were seen within it,
Splitting up an old tree into perches for their poultry
At a hundred strokes ^ a minute.
The work is done, the hen has taken
Possession of her nest and eggs.
Without a thought of eggs and bacon,^
(Or I am very much mistaken:)
She turns over each shell.
To be sure that all's well.
Looks into the straw
To see there's no flaw.
Goes once round the house,^
Half afraid of a mouse,
Then sinks calmly to rest
On the top of her nest.
First doubling up each of her legs.
Time rolled away, and so did every shell,
"Small by degrees and beautifully less,"
^l.e. the jam without the jars. Observe the beauty of this rhyme.
^ At the rate of a stroke and two- thirds in a second.
Unless the hen was a poacher, which is unlikely.
^ The henhouse.
79^ VERSE
* As the sage mother with a powerful spell "^
Forced each in turn its contents to express,^
But ah! "imperfect is expression,"
Some poet said, I don't care who.
If you want to know you must go elsewhere.
One fact I can tell, if you're willing to hear,
He never attended a Parliament Session,
For I'm certain that if he had ever been there,
Full quickly would he have changed his ideas,
With the hissings, the hootings, the groans and
the cheers.
And as to his name it is pretty clear
That it wasn't me and it wasn't you!
And so it fell upon a day,
(That is, it never rose again)
A chick was found upon the hay,
Its little life had ebbed away.
No longer frolicsome and gay.
No longer could it run or play.
"And must we, chicken, must we part.^^"
Its master ^ cried with bursting heart.
And voice of agony and pain.
So one, whose ticket's marked "Return," *
When to the lonely roadside station
He flies in fear and perturbation.
Thinks of his home — the hissing urn —
Then runs with flying hat and hair.
And, entering, finds to his despair
He's missed the very latest train.^
^ Beak and claw.
^ Press out.
^ Probably one of the two stalwart youths.
^ The system of return tickets is an excellent one. People are con-
veyed, on particular days, there and back again for one fare.
^ An additional vexation would be that his "Return" ticket would
be no use the next day.
EARLY VERSE 793
Too long it were to tell of each conjecture
Of chicken suicide, and poultry victim,
The deadly frown, the stern and dreary lecture,
The timid guess, "perhaps some needle pricked
him!"
The din of voice, the words both loud and many,
The sob, the tear, the sigh that none could smother,
Till all agreed "a shilling to a penny
It killed itself, and we acquit the mother!"
Scarce was the verdict spoken.
When that still calm was broken,
A childish form hath burst into the throng;
With tears and looks of sadness.
That bring no news of gladness.
But tell too surely something hath gone wrong!
"The sight that I have come upon
The stoutest heart ^ would sicken,
That nasty hen has been and gone
And killed another chicken!"
* Perhaps even the "bursting" heart of its master.
794 VERSE
LAYS OF SORROW
No. 2
Fair stands the ancient ^ Rectory,
The Rectory of Croft,
The sun shines bright upon it,
The breezes whisper soft.
From all the house and garden,
Its inhabitants come forth,
And muster in the road without.
And pace in twos and threes about,
The children of the North.
Some are waiting in the garden.
Some are waiting at the door,
And some are following behind.
And some have gone before.
But wherefore all this mustering .f^
Wherefore this vast array?
A gallant feat of horsemanship
Will be performed to-day.
To eastward and to westward,
The crowd divides amain.
Two youths are leading on the steed,
Both tugging at the rein;
^This Rectory has been supposed to have been built in the time of
Edward VI, but recent discoveries clearly assign its origin to a much
earlier period. A stone has been found in an island formed by the
river Tees on which is inscribed the letter "A," which is justly con-
jectured to stand for the name of the great King Alfred, in whose
reign this house was probably built.
i
EARLY VERSE 795
And sorely do they labour, ^
For the steed ^ is very strong,
And backward moves its stubborn feet,
And backward ever doth retreat.
And drags its guides along.
And now the knight hath mounted,
Before the admiring band,
Hath got the stirrups on his feet.
The bridle in his hand.
Yet, oh! beware, sir horseman!
And tempt thy fate no more,
For such a steed as thou hast got
Was never rid before!
The rabbits bow before thee.
And cower in the straw;
The chickens ^ are submissive,
And own thy will for law;
Bullfinches and canary
Thy bidding do obey;
And e'en the tortoise in its shell
Doth never say thee nay.
But thy steed will hear no master,
Thy steed will bear no stick,
And woe to those that beat her,
And woe to those that kick! ^
For though her rider smite her,
As hard as he can hit.
And strive to turn her from the yard,
* The poet entreats pardon for having represented a donkey under
this dignified name.
^A full account of the history and misfortunes of these interesting
creatures may be found in the first "Lay of Sorrow."
^ It is a singular fact that a donkey makes a point of returning any
kicks offered to it.
796 VERSE
/
She stands in silence, pulling hard
Against the pulling bit.
And now the road to Dalton
Hath felt their coming tread,
The crowd are speeding on before,
And all have gone ahead.
Yet often look they backward,
And cheer him on, and bawl,
For slower still, and still more slow.
That horseman and that charger go,
And scarce advance at all.
And now two roads to choose from
Are in that rider's sight:
In front the road to Dalton,
And New Croft upon the right.
"I can't get by!" he bellows,
"I really am not able!
Though I pull my shoulder out of joint,
I cannot get him past this point.
For it leads unto his stable!"
Then out spake Ulfrid Longbow,^
A valiant youth was he,
"Lo! I will stand on thy right hand
And guard the pass for thee!"
And out spake fair Flureeza,^
His sister eke was she,
"I will abide on thy other side.
And turn thy steed for thee!"
*This valiant knight, besides having a heart of steel and nerves of
iron, has been lately in the habit of carrying a brick in his eye.
^ She was sister to both.
EARLY VERSE 797
And now commenced a struggle
Between that steed and rider,
For all the strength that he hath left
Doth not suffice to guide her.
Though Ulfrid and his sister
Have kindly stopped the way,
And all the crowd have cried aloud,
"We can't wait here all day!"
Round turned he as not deigning
Their words to understand.
But he slipped the stirrups from his feet
The bridle from his hand.
And grasped the mane full lightly.
And vaulted from his seat.
And gained the road in triumph,^
And stood upon his feet.
All firmly till that moment
Had Ulfrid Longbow stood.
And faced the foe right valiantly,
As everv warrior should.
But when safe on terra firma
His brother he did spy,
"What did you do that for?" he cried,
Then unconcerned he stepped aside
And let it canter by.
They gave him bread and butter,^
* The reader will probably be at a loss to discover the nature of this
triumph, as no object was gained, and the donkey was obviously the
victor; on this point, however, we are sorry to say we can offer no
good explanation.
^ Much more acceptable to a true knight than "corn-land" which
the Roman people were so foolish as to give to their daring champion,
Horatius.
798 VERSE
That was of public right,
As much as four strong rabbits
Could munch from morn to night,
For he'd done a deed of daring,
And faced that savage steed,
And therefore cups of coffee sweet.
And everything that was a treat,
Were but his right and meed.
And often in the evenings,
When the fire is blazing bright.
When books bestrew the table
And moths obscure the light.
When crying children go to bed,
A struggling, kicking load;
We'll talk of Ulfrid Longbow's deed,
How, in his brother's utmost need.
Back to his aid he flew with speed.
And how he faced the fiery steed.
And kept the New Croft Road,
EARLY VERSE 799
THE TWO BROTHERS
(1853)
There were two brothers at Twyford school,
And when they had left the place,
It was, "Will ve learn Greek and Latin?
Or will ye run me a race ?
Or will ye go up to yonder bridge,
And there we will angle for dace?"
'Tm too stupid for Greek and for Latin,
Fm too lazy by half for a race,
So I'll even go up to yonder bridge,
And there we will angle for dace."
He has fitted together two joints of his rod.
And to them he has added another.
And then a great hook he took from his book.
And ran it right into his brother.
Oh much is the noise that is made among boys
When playfully pelting a pig,
But a far greater pother was made by his brother
When flung from the top of the brigg.
The fish hurried up by the dozens.
All ready and eager to bite.
For the lad that he flung was so tender and young,
It quite gave them an appetite.
Said he, "Thus shall he wallop about
And the fish take him quite at their ease.
For me to annoy it was ever his joy.
Now ril teach him the meaning of Tees'!"
800 VERSE
The wind to his ear brought a voice,
"My brother, you didn't had ought ter!
And what have I done that you think it such fun
To indulge in the pleasure of slaughter?
"A good nibble or bite is my chiefest delight,
When Fm merely expected to see^
But a bite from a fish is not quite what I wish.
When I get it performed upon me;
And just now here's a swarm of dace at my arm.
And a perch has got hold of my knee.
"For water my thirst was not great at the first,
• And of fish I have quite sufficien — "
"Oh fear not!" he cried, "for whatever betide.
We are both in the selfsame condition!
"I am sure that our state's very nearly alike
(Not considering the question of slaughter).
For I have my perch on the top of the bridge.
And you have your perch in the water.
"I stick to my perch and your perch sticks to you.
We are really extremely alike ;
I've a turn-pike up here, and I very much fear
You may soon have a turn with a pike."
"Oh grant but one wish! If I'm took by a fish
(For your bait is your brother, good man!)
Pull him up if you like, but I hope you will strike
As gently as ever you can."
"If the fish be a trout, I'm afraid there's no doubt
I must strike him like lightning that's greased;
EARLY VERSE 8oi
If the fish be a pike, I'll engage not to strike,
Till I've waited ten minutes at least."
"But in those ten minutes to desolate Fate
Your brother a victim may fall!"
"I'll reduce it to five, so perhaps you'll survive.
But the chance is exceedingly small."
"Oh hard is your heart for to act such a pai;t;
Is it iron, or granite, or steel?"
"Why, I really can't say — it is many a day
Since mv heart was accustomed to feel.
" 'Twas my heart-cherished wish for to slay many fish
Each day did my malice grow worse.
For my heart didn't soften with doing it so often,
But rather, I should say, the reverse."
"Oh would I were back at Twyford school.
Learning lessons in fear of the birch!"
"Nay, brother!" he cried, "for whatever betide.
You are better off here with your perch!
"I am sure you'll allow you are happier now,
With nothing to do but to play;
And this single line here, it is perfectly clear,
Is much better than thirty a day!
"And as to the rod hanging over your head.
And apparently ready to fall,
That, you know, was the case, when you lived in that
place.
So it need not be reckoned at all.
802 VERSE
"Do you see that old trout with a turn-up-nose snout?
(Just to speak on a pleasanter theme,)
Observe, my dear brother, our love for each other —
He's the one I like best in the stream.
"To-morrow I mean to invite him to dine
(We shall all of us think it a treat) ;
If the day should be fine, I'll just drop him a linCy
And we'll settle what time we're to meet.
"He hasn't been into society yet,
And his manners are not of the best.
So I think it quite fair that it should be my care.
To see that he's properly dressed."
Many words brought the wind of "cruel" and "kind,"
And that "man suffers more than the brute" :
Each several word with patience he heard.
And answered with wisdom to boot.
"What? prettier swimming in the stream.
Than lying all snugly and flat?
Do but look at that dish filled with glittering fish,
Has Nature a picture like that?
"What? a higher delight to be drawn from the sight
Of fish full of life and of glee ?
What a noodle you are! 'tis delightfuUer far
To kill them than let them go free!
"I know there are people who prate by the hour
Of the beauty of earth, sky, and ocean;
Of the birds as they fly, of the fish darting by,
Rejoicing in Life and^n Motion.
EARLY VERSE 803
"As to any delight to be got from the sight,
It is all very well for a flat,
But / think it all gammon, for hooking a salmon
Is better than twenty of that!
"They say that a man of a right-thinking mind
Will love the dumb creatures he sees —
What's the use of his mind, if he's never inclined
To pull a fish out of the Tees?
"Take my friends and my home — as an outcast I'll roam:
Take the money I have in the Bank;
It is just what I wish, but deprive me of fish^
And my life would indeed be a blank!"
Forth from the house his sister came,
Her brothers for to see.
But when she saw that sight of awe,
The tear stood in her e'e.
"Oh what bait's that upon your hook.
My brother, tell to me?"
"It is but the fantailed pigeon.
He would not sing for me."
"Whoe'er would expect a pigeon to sing,
A simpleton he must be!
But a pigeon-cote is a different thing
To the coat that there I see!"
•
"Oh what bait's that upon your hook.
Dear brother, tell to me?"
"It is my younger brother," he cried,
"Oh woe and dole is me!
804 VERSE
"Fs mighty wicked, that I is!
Or how could such things be?
Farewell, farewell, sweet sister,
I'm going o'er the sea."
"And when will you come back again,
My brother, tell to me?"
"When chub is good for human food.
And that will never be!"
She turned herself right round about.
And her heart brake into three.
Said, "One of the two will be wet through and through,
And t'other'll be late for his teal"
EARLY VERSE 805
THE LADY OF THE LADLE
(1854)
The Youth at Eve had drunk his fill.
Where stands the "Royal" on the Hill,
And long his mid-day stroll had made,
On the so-called "Marine Parade" —
(Meant, I presume, for Seamen brave,
Whose "march is on the Mountain v^ave";
'Twere just the bathing-place for him
Who stays on land till he can swim — )
And he had strayed into the Town,
And paced each alley up and down,
Where still, so narrow grew the way,
The very houses seemed to say.
Nodding to friends across the Street,
"One struggle more and we shall meet."
And he had scaled that wondrous stair
That soars from earth to upper air,
Where rich and poor alike must climb.
And walk the treadmill for a time.
That morning he had dressed with care.
And put Pomatum on his hair;
He was, the loungers all agreed,
A very heavy swell indeed:
Men thought him, as he swaggered by,
Some scion of nobility.
And never dreamed, so cold his look.
That he had loved — and loved a Cook.
Upon the beach he stood and sighed
Unheedful of the treacherous tide;
Thus sang he to the listening main.
And soothed his sorrow with the strain!
8o6 VERSE
CORONACH
"She is gone by the Hilda,
She is lost unto Whitby,
And her name is Matilda,
Which my heart it was smit by;
Tho' I take the Goliah,
I learn to my sorrow
That *it won't,' said the crier,
*Be off till to-morrow.'
"She called me her 'Neddy,'
(Tho' there mayn't be much in it,)
And I should have been ready.
If she'd waited a minute;
I was following behind her
When, if you recollect, I
Merely ran back to find a
Gold pin for my neck-tie.
"Rich dresser of suet!
Prime hand at a sausage!
I have lost thee, I rue it.
And my fare for the passage!
Perhaps she thinks it funny.
Aboard of the Hilda,
But I've lost purse and money.
And thee, oh, my 'Tilda!"
His pin of gold the youth undid
And in his waistcoat-pocket hid,
Then gently folded hand in hand.
And dropped a^eep upon the sand.
EARLY VERSE 807
SHE'S ALL MY FANCY PAINTED HIM
[This affecting fragment was found in MS. among the
papers of the well-known author of "Was it You or I?" a
tragedy, and the two popular novels, "Sister and Son," and
"The Niece's Legacy, or the Grateful Grandfather."]
She's all my fancy painted him
(I make no idle boast) ;
If he or you had lost a limb,
Which would have suffered most?
He said that you had been to her,
And seen me here before;
But, in another character,
She was the same of yore.
There was not one that spoke to us,
Of all that thronged the street:
So he sadly got into a 'bus,
And pattered with his feet.
They sent him word I had not gone
(We know it to be true) ;
If she should push the matter on,
What would become of you ?
They gave her one, they gave me two,
They gave us three or more;
They all returned from him to you,
Though they were mine before.
If I or she should chance to be
Involved in this affair.
8o8 VERSE
He trusts to you to set them free.
Exactly as we were.
It seemed to me that you had been
(Before she had this fit)
An obstacle, that came between
Him, and ourselves, and it.
Don't let him know she liked them best,
For this must ever be
A secret, kept from all the rest,
Between yourself and me.
EARLY VERSE 809
PHOTOGRAPHY EXTRAORDINARY
The Milk^and-W ater School
Alas! she would not hear my prayer!
Yet it were rash to tear my hair;
Disfigured, I should be less fair.
She was unwise, I may say blind;
Once she was lovingly inclined;
Some circumstance has changed her mind.
The Strong-Minded or Matter-oj-Fact School
Well! so my offer was no go!
She might do worse, I told her so;
She was a fool to answer "No."
However, things are as they stood;
Nor would I have her if I could.
For there are plenty more as good.
The Spasmodic or German School
Firebrands and daggers! hope hath fled!
To atoms dash the doubly dead!
My brain is fire — my heart is lead!
Her soul is flint, and what am I ?
Scorch'd by her fierce, relentless eye,
Nothingness is my destiny!
8io
VERSE
LAYS OF MYSTERY,
IMAGINATION, AND HUMOUR
Number i
THE PALACE OF HUMBUG
I DREAMT I dwelt in marble halls,
And each damp thing that creeps and crawls
Went wobble-wobble on the walls.
Faint odours of departed cheese,
Blown on the dank, unwholesome breeze,
Awoke the never-ending sneeze.
Strange pictures decked the arras drear,
Strange characters of woe and fear.
The humbugs of the social sphere.
One showed a vain and noisy prig,
That shouted empty words and big
At him that nodded in a wig.
And one, a dotard grim and gray,
Who wasteth childhood's happy day
In work more profitless than play.
Whose icy breast no pity warms,
Whose little victims sit in swarms.
And slowly sob oft lower forms.
EARLY VERSE 8ll
And one, a green thyme-honoured Bank,
Where flowers are growing wild and rank.
Like weeds that fringe a poisoned tank.
All birds of evil omen there
Flood with rich Notes the tainted air.
The witless wanderer to snare.
The fatal Notes neglected fall.
No creature heeds the treacherous call.
For all those goodly Strawn Baits Pall.
The wandering phantom broke and fled,
Straightway I saw within my head
A vision of a ghostly bed.
Where lay two worn decrepit men,
The fictions of a lawyer's pen.
Who never more might breathe again.
The serving-man of Richard Roe
Wept, inarticulate with woe:
She wept, that waited on John Doe.
''Oh rouse," I urged, "the waning sense
With tales of tangled evidence.
Of suit, demurrer, and defence."
"Vain," she replied, "such mockeries:
For morbid fancies, such as these,
No suits can suit, no plea can please."
8l2 VERSE
And bending o'er that man of straw,
She cried in grief and sudden awe,
Not inappropriately, "Law!"
The well-remembered voice he knew,
He smiled, he faintly muttered "Sue!"
(Her very name was legal too.)
The night was fled, the dawn was nigh:
A hurricane went raving by.
And swept the Vision from mine eye.
Vanished that dim and ghostly bed,
(The hangings, tape; the tape was red:)
'Tis o'er, and Doe and Roe are dead!
Oh, yet my spirit inly crawls,
What time it shudderingly recalls
That horrid dream of marble halls!
Oxford^ 1855.
\
EARLY VERSE 813
P
THE MOCK TURTLE'S SONG
Beneath the waters of the sea
Are lobsters thick as thick can be —
They love to dance with you and me.
My own, my gentle Salmon!
Chorus
Salmon, come up! Salmon, go down!
Salmon, come twist your tail around!
Of all the fishes of the sea
There's none so good as Salmon!
UPON THE LONELY MOOR
(1856)
[It is always interesting to ascertain the sources from
which our great poets obtained their ideas: this motive has
dictated the publication of the following: painful as its
appearance must be to the admirers of Wordsworth and his
poem of "Resolution and Independence."]
I met an aged, aged man
Upon the lonely moor:
I knew I was a gentleman,
And he was but a boor.
So I stopped and roughly questioned him,
"Come, tell me how you live!"
But his words impressed my ear no more
Than if it were a sieve.
8l4 VERSE
He said, "I look for soap-bubbles,
That lie among the wheat,
And bake them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men,'' he said,
"Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread —
A trifle, i£ you please."
But I was thinking of a way
To multiply by ten.
And always, in the answer, get
The question back again.
I did not hear a word he said,
But kicked that old man calm.
And said, "Come, tell me how you live!"
And pinched him in the arm.
His accents mild took up the tale :
He said, "I go my ways.
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze.
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar Oil;
But fourpence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil."
But I was thinking of a plan
To paint one's gaiters green.
So much the colour of the grass
That they could ne'er be seen.
I gave his ear a sudden box,
And questioned him again.
And tweaked his grey and reverend locks,
And put himi into pain.
EARLY VERSE 815
He said, "I hunt for haddocks' eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat-buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold,
Or coin of silver-mine.
But for a copper-halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.
"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls.
Or set limed twigs for crabs;
I sometimes search the flowery knolls
For wheels of hansom cabs.
And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
"I get my living here.
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour's health in beer."
I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I duly thanked him, ere I went,
For all his stories queer.
But chiefly for his kind intent
To drink my health in beer.
And now if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue.
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe;
Or if a statement I aver
Of which I am not sure,
I think of that strange wanderer
Upon the lonely moor.
8l6 VERSE
MISS JONES
(This frolicsome verse was written for a medley of twenty-
two tunes that ranged from *'The Captain and His Whis-
kers'' to "Rule Britannia/'^
'Tis a melancholy song, and it will not keep you long,
Tho I specs it will work upon your feelings very strong,
For the agonising moans of Miss Arabella Jones
Were warranted to melt the hearts of any paving stones.
Simon Smith was tall and slim, and she doted upon him,
But he always called her Miss Jones — he never got so far,
As to use her Christian name — it was too familiar.
When she called him "Simon dear" he pretended not to
hear.
And she told her sister Susan he behaved extremely queer,
Who said, "Very right! very right! Shews his true aflfec-
tion.
If you'd prove your Simon's love follow my direction.
I'd certainly advise you just to write a simple letter,
And to tell him that the cold he kindly asked about is
better.
And say that by the tanyard you will wait in loving hope,
At nine o'clock this evening if he's willing to elope
With his faithful Arabella."
So she wrote it, & signed it, & sealed it, & sent it, & dressed
herself out in her holiday things.
With bracelets & brooches, & earrings, & necklace, a watch,
& an eyeglass, & diamond rings.
For man is a creature weak and impressible, thinks such
a deal of appearance, my dear.
So she waited for her Simon beside the tanyard gate, re-
gardless of the pieman, who hinted it was late.
EARLY VERSE 817
Waiting for Simon, she coughed in the chilly night, until
the tanner found her.
And kindly brought a light old coat to wrap around her.
She felt her cold was getting worse.
Yet still she fondly whispered, "Oh, take your time, my
Simon, although I've waited long.
I do not fear my Simon dear will fail to come at last,
Although I know that long ago the time I named is past.
My Simon! My Simon! Oh, charming man! Oh, charm-
ing man!
Dear Simon Smith, sweet Simon Smith."
Oh, there goes the church-clock, the town-clock, the sta-
tion-clock and there go the other clocks, they are all
striking twelve!
Oh, Simon, it is getting late, it's very dull to sit and wait.
And really I'm in such a state, I hope you'll come at any
rate, quite early in the morning, quite early in the
morning.
Then with prancing bays & yellow chaise, we'll away to
Gretna Green.
For when I am with my Simon Smith — oh, that common
name! Oh that vulgar name!
I shall never rest happy till he's changed that name, but
when he has married me, maybe he'll love me to that
degree, that he'll grant me my prayer
And will call himself "Clare" —
So she talked all alone, as she sat upon a stone.
Still hoping he would come and find her, and she started
most unkimmon, when instead of darling "Simmon"
'twas a strange man that stood behind her.
Who civilly observed "Good evening, M'am,
I really am surprised to see that you're out here alone,,
for you must own from thieves you're not secure.
A watch, I see. Pray lend it me (I hope the gold is pure).
8l8 VERSE
And all those rings, & other things — Don't scream, you
know, for long ago
The policeman off from his beat has gone.
In the kitchen — " "Oh, you desperate villain! Oh, you
treacherous thief!"
And these were the words of her anger and grief.
"When first to Simon Smith I gave my hand I never could
have thought he would have acted half so mean as this,
And where's the new police? Oh, Simon, Simon! how
could you treat your love so ill?"
They sit & chatter, they chatter with the cook, the
guardians, so they're called, of public peace.
Through the tanyard was heard the dismal sound, "How
on earth is it policemen never, never, never, can be
found?"
PUZZLES FROM
WONDERLAND
*
I
-^ Dreaming of apples on a wall.
And dreaming often, dear,
I dreamed that, if I counted all,
— How many would appear?
II
A stick I found that weighed two pound:
I sawed it up one day
In pieces eight of equal weight!
How much did each piece weigh ?
(Everybody says "a quarter of a pound," which is wrong.)
Ill
John gave his brother James a box :
About it there were many locks.
James woke and said it gave him pain ;
So gave it back to John again.
The box was not with lid supplied.
Yet caused two lids to open wide :
And all these locks had never a key —
What kind of a box, then, could it be?
IV
What is most like a bee in May?
"Well, let me think: perhaps — " you say..
Bravo! You're guessing well to-day!
819
820
VERSE
V
Three sisters at breakfast were feeding the cat,
The first gave it sole — Puss was grateful for that :
The next gave it salmon — which Puss thought a treat
The third gave it herring — which Puss wouldn't eat.
(Explain the conduct of the cat.)
VI
Said the Moon to the Sun,
"Is the daylight begun?"
Said the Sun to the Moon,
"Not a minute too soon.
5>
"You're a Full Moon," said he.
She replied with a frown,
"Well! I never did see
So uncivil a clown!"
(Query. Why was the moon so angry?)
VII
When the King found that his money was nearly all
gone, and that he really must live more economically, he
decided on sending away most of his Wise Men. There
were some hundreds of them — very fine old men, and
magnificently dressed in green velvet gowns with gold
buttons: if they had a fault, it was that they always con-
tradicted one another when he asked for their advice —
and they certainly ate and drank enormously. So, on the
whole, he was rather glad to get rid of them. But there
was an old law, which he did not dare to disobey, which
said that there must always be
PUZZLES FROM WONDERLAND 82I
"Seven blind of both eyes:
Two blind of one eye :
Four that see with both eyes :
Nine that see with one eye."
(Query. How many did he keep?)
SOLUTIONS TO PUZZLES
FROM WONDERLAND
I
Ten.
II
In Shylock's bargain for the flesh was found
No mention of the blood that flowed around :
So when the stick was sawed in eight,
The sawdust lost diminished from the weight.
Ill
As curly-headed Jemmy was sleeping in bed,
His brother John gave him a blow on the head;
James opened his eyelids, and spying his brother,
Doubled his fist, and gave him another.
This kind of box then is not so rare;
The lids are the eyelids, the locks are the hair,
And so every schoolboy can tell to his cost,
The key to the tangles is constantly lost.
IV
'Twixt "Perhaps" and "May be"
Little difference we see:
822 VERSE
Let the question go round,
The answer is found.
V
That salmon and sole Puss should think very grand
Is no such remarkable thing.
For more of these dainties Puss took up her stand;
But when the third sister stretched out her fair hand
Pray why should Puss swallow her ring?
VI
"In these degenerate days," we oft hear said,
"Manners are lost and chivalry is dead!"
No wonder, since in high exalted spheres '
The same degeneracy, in fact, appears.
The Moon, in social matters interfering.
Scolded the Sun, when early in appearing;
And the rude Sun, her gentle sex ignoring.
Called her a fool, thus her pretensions flooring.
VII
Five seeing, and seven blind
Give us twelve, in all, we find ;
But all of these, 'tis very plain.
Come into account again.
For take notice, it may be true.
That those blind of one eye are blind for two;
And consider contrariwise.
That to see with your eye you may have your eyes;
So setting one against the other —
For a mathematician no great bother —
And working the sum, you will understand
That sixteen wise rhen still trouble the land.
PROLOGUES TO PLAYS
PROLOGUE TO ^'LA GUIDA DI BRAGIA"
(From an opera written for Carroll's Marionette Theatre)
Shall soldiers tread the murderous path of war,
Without a notion \yhat they do it for ?
Shall pallid mercers drive a roaring trade,
And sell the stufis their hands have never made ?
And shall not we, in this our mimic scene,
Be all that better actors e'er have been ?
Awake again a Kemble's tragic tone,
And make a Liston's humour all our own?
Or vie with Mrs. Siddons in the art
To rouse the feelings and to charm the heart?
While Shakespeare's self, with all his ancient fires,,
Lights up the forms that tremble on our wires?
Why can't we have, in theatres ideal.
The good, without the evil of the real ?
Why may not Marionettes be just as good
As larger actors made of flesh and blood ?
Presumptuous thought! to you and your applause
In humbler confidence we trust our cause.
PROLOGUE
(Misses Beatrice and Ethel Hatch, daughters of Dr. Edwin
Hatch, Vice-principal of St. Mary Hall, were friends of the
author. He wrote two plays for performance at their house.)
Curtain rises and discovers the Speaker, who comes for-
ward, thinking aloud,
823
1
824 VERSE
"Ladies and Gendemen" seems stiflF and cold.
There's something personal in "Young and Old";
ril try "Dear Friends" {addresses audience)
Oh! let me call you so.
Dear friends, look kindly on our little show.
Contrast us not with giants in the Art,
Nor say "You should see Sothern in that part";
Nor yet, unkindest cut of all, in fact.
Condemn the actors, while you praise the Act.
Having by coming proved you find a charm in it.
Don't go away, and hint there may be harm in it.
• • ' • • • • •
Miss Crabb, My dear Miss Verjuice, can it really be?
You're just in time, love, for a cup of tea;
And so, you went to see those people play.
Miss Verjuice, Well! yes. Miss Crabb, and I may truly
say
You showed your wisdom when you stayed away.
Miss C, Doubtless! Theatricals in our quiet town!
I've always said, "The law should put them down,"
They mean no harm, tho' I begin to doubt it —
But now sit down and tell me all about it.
Miss V, Well then, Miss Crabb, I won't deceive you, dear;
I heard some things I didn't like to hear:
Miss C, But don't omit them now.
Miss V. Well! No! I'll try
To tell you all the painful history.
{They whisper alternately behind a small fan.)
Miss V, And then, my dear. Miss Asterisk and he
Pretended they were lovers!!
Miss C. Gracious me!!
(More whispering behind fan,)
\
PROLOGUES TO PLAYS 825
Speaker,
What! Acting love!! And has that ne'er been seen
Save with a row of foothghts placed between?
My gentle censors, let me roundly ask.
Do none but actors ever wear a mask ?
Or have we reached at last that golden age
That finds deception only on the Stage ?
Come, let's confess all round before we budge.
When all are guilty, none should play the Judge.
We're actors all, a motley company,
Some on the Stage, and others — on the sly —
And guiltiest he who paints so well his phiz
His brother actors scarce know what he is.
A truce to moralizing; we invite
The goodly company we see to-night \ )
To have the little banquet we have got.
Well dressed, we hope, and served up hot & hot.
"Loan of a Lover" is the leading dish.
Concluding with a dainty course of fish; r
"Whitebait at Greenwich" in the best condition
(By Mr. Gladstone's very kind permission).
Before the courses will be handed round
An Entret made of Children, nicely browned.
Bell rings.
But hark! The bell to summon me away;
They're anxious to begin their little Play.
One word before I go — We'll do our best,
And crave your kind indulgence for the rest;
Own that at least we've striven to succeed,
And take the good intention for the deed.
Nov, 1871.
826 VERSE
PROLOGUE
Enter Beatrice, leading Wilfred, She leaves him at cen-
tre (front) y and after going round on tip-toe, to make
sure they are not overheard, returns and takes his arm.
B. "Wiffie! I'm sure that something is the matter,
All day there's been — oh, such a fuss and clatter!
Mamma's been trying on a funny dress —
I never saw the house in such a mess!
(puts her arm round his neck)
Is there a secret, Wiffie?"
W. (shaking her off) "Yes, of course!"
B. "And you won't tell it? (whimpers) Then you're very
cross!
(turns away from him and clasps her hands, look-
ing up ecstatically)
I'm sure of this! It's something quite uncommon!"
W. (stretching up his arms, with a mock-heroic air)
"Oh, Curiosity! Thy name is Woman!
(puts his arm round her coaxingly)
Well, Birdie, then I'll tell! (mysteriously) What
should you say
If they were going to act — a little play?"
B. (jumping and clapping her hands)
"I'd say *HOW NICE!'"
W. (pointing to audience)
"But will it please the rest?"
B. "Oh yes! Because, you know, they'll do their best!
(turns to audience)
You'll praise them, won't you, when youVe seen the
play ?
Just say *HOW NICE!' before you go away!"
(They run away hand in hand,)
Feb. 14, 1873. ^
PHANTASMAGORIA
Canto I
The Trystyng
One winter night, at half -past nine.
Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,
I had come home, too late to dine.
And supper, with cigars and wine,
Was waiting in the study.
There was a strangeness in the room,
And Something white and wavy
Was standing near me in the gloom —
/ took it for the carpet-broom
Left by that careless slavey.
But presently the Thing began
To shiver and to sneeze:
On which I said "Come, come, my man I
That's a most inconsiderate plan.
Less noise there, if you please!"
"I've caught a cold," the Thing replies,
"Out there upon the landing."
I turned to look in some surprise.
And there, before my very eyes,
A little Ghost was standing!
He trembled when he caught my eye.
And got behind a chair.
827
828 VERSE
"How came you here," I said, "and why?
I never saw a thing so shy.
Come out! Don't shiver there!"
He said "I'd gladly tell you how,
And also tell you why;
But" (here he gave a little bow)
"You're in so bad a temper now,
You'd think it all a lie.
"And as to being in a fright.
Allow me to remark
That Ghosts have just as good a right,
In every way, to fear the light,
As Men to fear the dark."
"No plea," said I, "can well excuse
Such cowardice in you:
For Ghosts can visit when they choose,
Whereas we Humans can't refuse
To grant the interview."
He said "A flutter of alarm
Is not unnatural, is it?
I really feared you meant some harm:
But, now I see that you are calm.
Let me explain my visit.
«
Houses are classed, I beg to state.
According to the number
Of Ghosts that they accommodate:
(The Tenant merely counts as weighty
With Coals ^nd other lumber).
PHANTASMAGORIA 829
"This is a 'one-ghost' house, and you,
When you arrived last summer.
May have remarked a Spectre who
Was doing all that Ghosts can do
To welcome the new-comer.
"In Villas this is always done —
However cheaply rented:
For, though of course there's less of fun
When there is only room for one,
Ghosts have to be contented.
"That Spectre left you on the Third —
Since then you've not been haunted:
For, as he never sent us word,
'Twas quite by accident we heard
That anv one was wanted.
"A Spectre has first choice, by right.
In filling up a vacancy;
Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite —
If all these fail them, they invite
The nicest Ghoul that they can see.
"The Spectres said the place was low.
And that you kept bad wine:
So, as a Phantom had to go.
And I was first, of course, you know,
I couldn't well decline."
"No doubt," said I, "they setded who
Was fittest to be sent:
Yet still to choose a brat like you.
To haunt a man of forty-two.
Was no great compliment!"
S30 VERSE
"I'm not so young, Sir," he replied,
"As you might think. The fact is,
In caverns by the water-side,
And other places that I've tried,
I've had a lot of practice:
"But I have never taken yet
A strict domestic part.
And in my flurry I forget
The Five Good Rules of Etiquette
We have to know by heart."
My sympathies were warming fast
Towards the little fellow:
He was so utterly aghast
At having found a Man at last.
And looked so scared and yellow.
"At least," I said, "I'm glad to find
A Ghost is not a dumb thing!
But pray sit down : you'll feel inclined
(If, like myself, you have not dined)
To take a snack of something:
^'Though, certainly, you don't appear
A thing to oflfer food to!
And then I shall be glad to hear —
If you will say them loud and clear —
The Rules that you allude to."
''Thanks! You shall hear them by and by.
This is a piece of luck!"
"What may I oflfer you?" said I.
"Well, since you are so kind, I'll try
A little bit df duck.
PHANTASMAGORIA 83I
"0/2^ slice! And may I ask you for '
Another drop o£ gravy?"
I sat and looked at him in awe,
For certainly I never saw
A thing so white and wavy.
And still he seemed to grow more white,
More vapoury, and wavier —
Seen in the dim and flickering light.
As he proceeded to recite
His "Maxims of Behaviour."
Canto II
Hys Fyve Rules
"My First — but don't suppose," he said,
"I'm setting you a riddle —
Is — if your Victim be in bed.
Don't touch the curtains at his head.
But take them in the middle,
^'And wave them slowly in and out,
While drawing them asunder;
And in a minute's time, no doubt,
He'll raise his head and look about
With eyes of wrath and wonder.
And here you must on no pretence
Make the first observation.
Wait for the Victim to commence:
No Ghost of any common sense
Begins a conversation.
832 VERSE
"If he should say 'How came you here?'
(The way that you began, Sir),
In such a case your course is clear- —
'0/2 the bat's bac\, my little dear!'
Is the appropriate answer.
"If after this he says no more,
You'd best perhaps curtail your
Exertions — go and shake the door,
And then, if he begins to snore.
You'll know the thing's a failure.
"By day, if he should be alone —
At home or on a walk —
You merely give a hollow groan.
To indicate the kind of tone
In which you mean to talk.
"But if you find him with his friends,
The thing is rather harder.
In such a case success depends
On picking up some candle-ends,
Or butter, in the larder.
"With this you make a kind of slide
(It answers best with suet).
On which you must contrive to glide,
And swing yourself from side to side —
One soon learns how to do it.
"The Second tells us what is right
In ceremonious calls: —
'First burn a blue or crimson light'
(A thing I quite forgot to-night),
'Then scratch the door or walls,' "
PHANTASMAGORIA 833
I said "You'll visit here no more,
If you attempt the Guy.
ril have no bonfires on my floor —
And, as for scratching at the door,
I'd like to see you try!"
''The Third was written to protect
The interests of the Victim,
And tells us, as I recollect,
To treat him with a grave respect,
And not to contradict himT
"That's plain," said I, "as Tare and Tret,
To any comprehension:
I only wish some Ghosts I've met
Would not so constantly forget
The maxim that you mention!"
"Perhaps," he said, '''you first transgressed
The laws of hospitality :
All Ghosts instinctively detest
The Man that fails to treat his guest
With proper cordiality.
"If you address a Ghost as *Thing!'
Or strike him with a hatchet,
He is permitted by the King
To drop all formal parleying —
And then you're sure to catch it!
"The Fourth prohibits trespassing
Where other Ghosts are quartered:
And those convicted of the thing
(Unless when pardoned by the King)
Must instantly be slaughtered.
834 VERSE
"That simply means 'be cut up small':
Ghosts soon unite anew:
The process scarcely hurts at ail-
Not more than when you re what you call
*Cut up' by a Review.
"The Fifth is one you may prefer
That I should quote entire: —
The King must be addressed as 'Sir!
This, from a simple courtier,
Is all the Laws require:
''But, should you wish to do the thing
With out-and-out politeness,
Accost him as 'My Goblin King!'
And always use, in answering.
The phrase 'Your Royal Whiteness!'
"I'm getting rather hoarse, I fear.
After so much reciting:
So, if you don't object, my dear,
We'll try a glass of bitter beer —
I think it looks inviting."
Canto III
Scarmoges
"And did you really walk," said I,
"On such a wretched night?
I always fancied Ghosts could fly-
If not exactly in the sky,
Yet at a fairisji height."
PHANTASMAGORIA 835
"It's very well," said he, "for Kings
To soar above the earth:
But Phantoms often find that wings —
Like many other pleasant things —
Cost more than they are worth.
**Spectres of course are rich, and so
Can buy them from the Elves :
But we prefer to keep below —
They're stupid company, you know,
For any but themselves:
"For, though they claim to be exempt
From pride, they treat a Phantom
As something quite beneath contempt —
Just as no Turkey ever dreamt
Of noticing a Bantam."
"They seem too proud," said I, "to go
To houses such as mine.
Pray, how did they contrive to know
So quickly that *the place was low,'
And that I 'kept bad wine'?"
"Inspector Kobold came to you — "
The little Ghost began.
Here I broke in — "Inspector who?
Inspecting Ghosts is something new! '■
Explain yourself, my man!"
"His name is Kobold," said my guest:
"One of the Spectre order:
You'll very often see him dressed
In a yellow gown, a crimson vest,
And a night-cap with a border.
836 VERSE
"He tried the Brocken business first,
But caught a sort of chill;
So came to England to be nursed,
And here it took the form of thirsty
Which he complains of still.
"Port-wine, he says, when rich and sound.
Warms his old bones like nectar:
And as the inns, where it is found,
Are his especial hunting-ground.
We call him the Inn-Spectre''
I bore it — bore it like a man —
This agonizing witticism!
And nothing could be sweeter than
My temper, till the Ghost began
Some most provoking criticism.
"Cooks need not be indulged in waste j
Yet still you'd better teach them
Dishes should have some sort of taste.
Pray, why are all the cruets placed
Where nobody can reach them?
"That man of yours will never earn
His living as a waiter!
Is that queer thing supposed to burn?
(It's far too dismal a concern
To call a Moderator.)
"The duck was tender, but the peas
Were very much too old:
And just remember, if you please.
The next time you have toasted cheese.
Don't let thefn send it cold»
PHANTASMAGORIA 837
"You'd find the bread improved, I think,
By getting better flour:
And have you anything to drink
That looks a little less like ink.
And isn't quite so sour?"
Then, peering round w^ith curious eyes,
He muttered "Goodness gracious!"
And so went on to criticize —
"Your room's an inconvenient size:
It's neither snug nor spacious.
"That narrow window, I expect.
Serves but to let the dusk in — "
"But please," said I, "to recollect
'Twas fashioned by an architect
Who pinned his faith on Ruskin!"
"I don't care who he was. Sir, or
On whom he pinned his faith!
Constructed by whatever law,
So poor a job I never saw.
As I'm a living Wraith!
"What a re-markable cigar!
How much are they a dozen?"
I growled "No matter what they are!
You're getting as familiar
As if you were my cousin!
"Now that's a thing / will not stand,
And so I tell you flat."
"Aha," said he, "we're getting grand!"
(Taking a bottle in his hand)
"I'll soon arrange for that!''
838 , VERSE
And here he took a careful aim,
And gaily cried "Here goes!"
I tried to dodge it as it came,
But somehow caught it, all the same,
Exactly on my nose.
And I remember nothing more
That I can clearly fix.
Till I was sitting on the floor,
Repeating "Two and five are four.
But five and two are six."
What really passed I never learned.
Nor guessed : I only know
That, when at last my sense returned,
The lamp, neglected, dimly burned —
The fire was getting low —
Through driving mists I seemed to see
A Thing that smirked and smiled :
And found that he was giving me
A lesson in Biography,
As if I were a child.
Canto IV
Hys Nouryture
"Oh, when I was a little Ghost,
A merry time had we!
Each seated on his favourite post.
We chumped and chawed the buttered toast
They gave us foi; our tea."
PHANTASMAGORIA 839
*'That story is in print!" I cried.
"Don't say it's not, because
It's known as well as Bradshaw's Guide!"
(The Ghost uneasily replied
He hardly thought it was.)
'It's not in Nursery Rhymes? And yet
I almost think it is —
'Three little Ghosteses' were set
'On posteses,' you know, and ate
Their 'buttered toasteses.'
"I have the book; so if you doubt it — "
I turned to search the shelf.
"Don't stir!" he cried. "We'll do without it:
I now remember all about it;
I wrote the thing myself.
"It came out in a 'Monthly,' or
At least my agent said it did:
Some literary swell, who saw
It, thought it seemed adapted for
The Magazine he edited.
'*My father was a Brownie, Sir;
My mother was a Fairy.
The notion had occurred to her,
The children would be happier,
If they were taught to vary.
'*The notion soon became a craze;
And, when it once began, she
Brought us all out in different ways —
One was a Pixy, two were Fays,
Another was a Banshee;
840 VERSE
"The Fetch and Kelpie went to school
And gave a lot of trouble;
Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul,
And then two Trolls (which broke the rule),
A Goblin, and a Double —
"(If that's a snuflf-box on the shelf,"
He added with a yawn,
"I'll take a pinch) — next came an Elf,
And then a Phantom (that's myself).
And last, a Leprechaun.
"One day, some Spectres chanced to call,
Dressed in the usual white:
I stood and watched them in the hall.
And couldn't make them out at all.
They seemer so strange a sight.
"I wondered what on earth they were,
That looked all head and sack;
But Mother told me not to stare.
And then she twitched me by the hair,
And punched me in the back.
"Since then I've often wished that I
Had been a Spectre born.
But what's the use?" (He heaved a sigh.)
''They are the ghost-nobility,
And look on us with scorn.
"My phantom-life was soon begun:
When I was barely six,
I went out with an older one —
And just at first I thought it fun,
And learned a lot of tricks.
PHANTASMAGORIA 84I
"I've haunted dungeons, casdes, towers —
Wherever I was sent :
Tve often sat and howled for hours,
Drenched to the skin with driving showers,
Upon a battlement.
"It's quite old-fashioned now to groan
When you begin to speak :
This is the newest thing in tone — "
And here (it chilled me to the bone)
He gave an awful squeak.
«
Perhaps," he added, "to your ear
?
That sounds an easy thing:
Try it yourself, my little dear!
It took me something like a year,
With constant practising.
*'And when you've learned to squeak, my man,
And caught the double sob.
You're pretty much where you began :
Just try and gibber if you can!
That's something li\e a job!
^Tve tried it, and can only say
I'm sure you couldn't do it, e-
ven if you practised night and day,
Unless you have a turn that way.
And natural ingenuity.
"Shakspeare I think it is who treats
Of Ghosts, in days of old.
Who 'gibbered in the Roman streets,'
Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets —
They must have found it cold.
842 VERSE
"I've often spent ten pounds on stuff,
In dressing as a- Double;
But, though it answers as a puff.
It never has effect enough
To make it worth the trouble.
"Long bills soon quenched the little thirst
I had for being funny.
The setting-up is always worst:
Such heaps of things you want at first,
One must be made of money!
"For instance, take a Haunted Tower,
With skull, cross-bones, and sheet;
Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour,
Condensing lens of extra power.
And set of chains complete:
"What with the things you have to hire —
The fitting on the robe —
And testing all the coloured fire —
The outfit of itself would tire
The patience of a Job!
"And then they're so fastidious.
The Haunted-House Committee:
I've often known them make a fuss
Because a Ghost was French, or Russ,
Or even from the City!
"Some dialects are objected to —
For one, the Irish brogue is :
And then, for all you have to do.
One pound a week they offer you.
And find yourself in Bogies!"
PHANTASMAGORIA 843
Canto V
Byckerment
"Don't they consult the 'Victims,' though?"
I said. "They should, by rights.
Give them a chance — because, you know,
The tastes o£ people differ so,
Especially in Sprites."
The Phantom shook his head and smiled.
"Consult them? Not a bit!
'Twould be a job to drive one wild,
To satisfy one single child —
There'd be no end to it!"
"0£ course you can't leave children free,"
Said I, "to pick and choose:
But, in the case of men like me,
I think 'Mine Host' might fairly be
Allowed to state his views."
He said "It really wouldn't pay —
Folk are so full of fancies.
We visit for a single day.
And whether then we go, or stay.
Depends on circumstances.
"And, though we don't consult 'Mine Host'
Before the thing's arranged.
Still, if he often quits his post.
Or is not a well-mannered Ghost,
Then you can have him changed.
844 VERSE
"But if the host's a man hke you —
I mean a man of sense;
And if the house is not too new — "
"Why, what has that,'' said I, "to do
With Ghost's convenience?"
"A new house does not suit, you know-
It's such a job to trim it:
But, after twenty years or so,
The wainscotings begin to go,
So twenty is the hmit."
"To trim" was not a phrase I could
Remember having heard:
"Perhaps," I said, "you'll be so good
As tell me what is understood
Exactly by that word?"
»
"It means the loosening all the doors,
The Ghost replied, and laughed:
"It means the drilling holes by scores
In all the skirting-boards and floors,
To make a thorough draught.
"You'll sometimes find that one or two
Are all you really need
To let the wind come whistling through-
But here there'll be a lot to do!"
I faintly gasped "Indeed!
"If I'd been rather later, I'll
Be bound," I added, trying
(Most unsuccessfully) to smile,
"You'd have been busy all this while.
Trimming and beautifying?"
PHANTASMAGORIA 845
"Why, no," said he; "perhaps I should
Have stayed another minute —
But still no Ghost, that's any good.
Without an introduction would
Have ventured to begin it.
"The proper thing, as you were late,
Was certainly to go:
But, with the roads in such a state,
I got the Knight-Mayor's leave to wait
For half an hour or so."
"Who's the Knight-Mayor?" I cried. Instead
Of answering my question,
"Well, if you don't know that^' he said,
"Either you never go to bed.
Or you've a grand digestion!
"He goes about and sits on folk
That eat too much at night:
His duties are to pinch, and poke.
And squeeze them till they nearly choke."
(I said "It serves them right!")
"And folk who sup on things like these — "
He muttered, "eggs and bacon —
Lobster — and duck — and toasted cheese —
If they don't get an awful squeeze,
I'm very much mistaken!
"He is immensely fat, and so
Well suits the occupation:
In point of fact, if you must know,
We used to call him vears ago.
The Mayor and Corporation!
846 VERSE
"The day he was elected Mayor
I \now that every Sprite meant
To vote for me^ but did not dare —
He was so frantic with despair
And furious with excitement.
"When it was over, for a whim.
He ran to tell the King;
And being the reverse of slim,
A two-mile trot was not for him
A very easy thing.
"So, to reward him for his run
(As it was baking hot.
And he was over twenty stone).
The King proceeded, half in fun,
To knight him on the spot."
" 'Twas a great liberty to take!"
(I fired up like a rocket.)
"He did it just for punning s sake:
*The man,' says Johnson, 'that would make
A pun, would pick a pocket!' "
"A man," said he, "is not a King."
I argued for a while,
And did my best to prove the thing —
The Phantom merely listening
With a contemptuous smile.
At last, when, breath and patience spent,
I had recourse to smoking —
"Your ^/m," he said, "is excellent:
But — when you call it argument —
Of course you're only joking?"
PHANTASMAGORIA 847
Stung by his cold and snaky eye,
I roused myself at length
To say, "At least I do defy
The veriest sceptic to deny
That union is strength!"
"That's true enough," said he, "yet stay — "
I listened in all meekness —
''Union is strength, I'm bound to say;
In fact, the thing's as clear as day;
But onions are a weakness."
Canto VI
Discomfyture
As one who strives a hill to climb,
Who never climbed before:
Who finds it, in a little time,
Grow every moment less sublime,
And votes the thing a bore:
Yet, having once begun to try,
Dares not desert his quest,
But, climbing, ever keeps his eye
On one small hut against the sky
Wherein he hopes to rest :
Who climbs till nerve and force are spent.
With many a puff and pant:
Who still, as rises the ascent.
In language grows more violent,
Although in breath more scant:
848 VERSE
Who, climbing, gains at length the place
That crowns the upward track :
And, entering with unsteady pace,
Receives a buffet in the face
That lands him on his back:
And feels himself, like one in sleep,
Glide swiftly down again,
A helpless weight, from steep to steep,
Till, with a headlong giddy sweep.
He drops upon the plain —
So I, that had resolved to bring
Conviction to a ghost.
And found it quite a different thing
From any human arguing.
Yet dared not quit my post.
But, keeping still the end in view
To which I hoped to come,
I strove to prove the matter true
By putting everything I knew
Into an axiom :
Commencing every single phrase
With ^'therefore" or "because,"
I blindly reeled, a hundred ways,
About the syllogistic maze.
Unconscious where I was.
Quoth he "That's regular clap-trap:
Don't bluster anv more.
Now do be cool and take a nap!
Such a ridiculous old chap
Was never seen before!
PHANTASMAGORIA 849
"You're like a man I used to meet,
Who got one day so furious
In arguing, the simple heat
Scorched both his slippers of? his feet!"
I said ''That's very curious!''
"Well, it IS curious, I agree.
And sounds perhaps like fibs:
But still it's true as true can be —
As sure as your name's Tibbs," said he.
I said "My name's not Tibbs."
''Not Tibbs!" he cried — his tone became
A shade or two less hearty —
"Why, no," said I. "My proper name
Is Tibbets— " "Tibbets?" "Aye, the same."
"Why, then you're not the party!"
With that he struck the board a blow
That shivered half the glasses.
"Why couldn't you have told me so
Three quarters of an hour ago.
You prince of all the asses ?
"To walk four miles through mud and rain,
To spend the night in smoking,
And then to find that it's in vain —
And I've to do it all again —
It's really too provoking!
"Don't talk!" he cried, as I began
To mutter some excuse.
"Who can have patience with a man
That's got no more discretion than
An idiotic goose?
850 VERSE
"To keep me waiting here, instead
Of telling me at once
That this was not the house!" he said.
"There, that'll do — be off to bed!
Don't gape like that, you dunce!"
"It's very jfine to throw the blame
On me in such a fashion!
Why didn't you enquire my name
The very minute that you came?"
I answered in a passion.
"Of course it worries you a bit
To come so far on foot —
But how was / to blame for it?"
"Well, well!" said he. "I must admit
That isn't badly put.
"And certainly you've given me
The best of wine and victual —
Excuse my violence," said he,
"But accidents like this, you see,
They put one out a little.
" 'Twas my fault after all, I find —
Shake hands, old Turnip-top!"
The name was hardly to my mind,
But, as no doubt he meant it kind,
I let the matter drop.
"Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!
When I am gone, perhaps
They'll send you some inferior Sprite,
Who'll keep you in a constant fright
And spoil your soundest naps.
PHANTASMAGORIA 85I
"Tell him you'll stand no sort of trick;
Then, if he leers and chuckles,
You just be handy with a stick
(Mind that it's pretty hard and thick)
And rap him on the knuckles!
"Then carelessly remark 'Old coon!
Perhaps you're not aware
That, if you don't behave, you'll soon
Be chuckling to another tune —
And so you'd best take care!'
"That's the right way to cure a Sprite
Of such-like goings-on —
But gracious me! It's getting light!
Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!"
A nod, and he was gone.
Canto VII
Sad Souvenaunce
"What's this?" I pondered. "Have I slept?
Or can I have been drinking?"
But soon a gentler feeling crept
Upon me, and I sat and wept ^^^
An hour or so, like winking.
"No need for Bones to hurry so!"
I sobbed. "In fact, I doubt
If it was worth his while to go —
And who is Tibbs, I'd like to know,
To make such work about?
852 VERSE
"If Tibbs is anything like me,
It's possible^'' I said,
"He won't be over-pleased to be
Dropped in upon at half-past three,
After he's snug in bed.
"And if Bones plagues him anyhow —
Squeaking and all the rest of it.
As he was doing here just now —
/ prophesy there'll be a row.
And Tibbs will have the best of it!"
Then, as my tears could never bring
The friendly Phantom back.
It seemed to me the proper thing
To mix another glass, and sing
• The following Coronach.
And art thou gone, beloved Ghost?
Best of Familiars!
Nay then, farewell, my duckling roast,
Faretvell, farewell, my tea and toast,
My meerschaum and cigars!
The hues of life are dull and gray.
The sweets of life insipid.
When thou, my charmer^ art away —
Old Bric\^ or rather^ let me say.
Old Parallelepiped!''
ft
Instead of singing Verse the Third,
I ceased — abruptly, rather :
But, after such a splendid word
I felt that it would be absurd
To try it any farther.
PHANTASMAGORIA 853
So with a yawn I went my way
To seek the welcome downy,
And slept, and dreamed till break of day
Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay
And Leprechaun and Brownie!
For years I've not been visited
By any kind of Sprite;
Yet still they echo in my head,
Those parting words, so kindly said,
"Old Turnip-top, good-night!"
ECHOES
Lady Clara Vere de Vere
Was eight years old, she said:
Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.
She took her little porringer :
Of me she shall not win renown :
For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag
her down.
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid?
There stands the Inspector at thy door:
Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and
two are four."
"Kind hearts are more than coronets,"
She said, and wondering looked at me:
*It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home
to tea."
854 VERSE
A SEA DIRGE
There are certain things — as, a spider, a ghost,
The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three —
That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most
Is a thing they call the Sea.
Pour some salt water over the floor —
Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be:
Suppose it extended a mile or more,
That's very like the Sea.
Beat a dog till it howls outright —
Cruel, but all very well for a spree:
Suppose that he did so day and night,
That would be like the Sea.
I had a vision of nursery-maids;
Tens of thousands passed by me —
All leading children with wooden spades,
And this was by the Sea.
Who invented those spades of wood?
Who was it cut them out of the tree ?
None, I think, but an idiot could —
Or one that loved the Sea.
b It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float
With "thoughts as boundless, and souls as free":
But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat,
How do you like the Sea?
There is an insect that people avoid
(Whence is derived the verb "to flee").
PHANTASMAGORIA 855
Where have you been by it most annoyed?
In lodgings by the Sea.
If you Hke your coffee with sand for dregs,
A decided hint of salt in your tea.
And a fishy taste in the very eggs —
By all means choose the Sea.
And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, -
You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree.
And a chronic state of wet in your feet.
Then — I recommend the Sea.
For / have friends who dwell by the coast —
Pleasant friends they are to me!
It is when I am with them I wonder most
That anyone likes the Sea.
They take me a walk: though tired and stiff.
To climb the heights I madly agree;
And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, i
They kindly suggest the Sea.
I try the rocks, and I think it cool
That they laugh with such an excess of glee,
As I heavily slip into every pool
That skirts the cold cold Sea.
YE CARPETTE KNYGHTE
I have a horse — a ryghte goode horse —
Ne doe Y envye those
Who scoure ye playne yn headye course
Tyll soddayne on theyre nose
856 VERSE
They lyghte wyth unexpected force
Yt ys — a horse of clothes.
I have a saddel — "Say'st thou soe?
Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?"
I sayde not that — I answere "Noe" —
Yt lacketh such, I woote:
Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
Parte of ye fleecye brute.
I have a bytte — a ryghte good bytte —
As shall bee scene yn tyme.
Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;
Yts use ys more sublyme.
Fayre Syr, hov^ deemest thou of y t ?
Yt ys — thys bytte of rhyme.
HIAWATHA'S PHOTOGRAPHING
[In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for
this slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy.
Any fairly practised writer, with the slightest ear for
rhythm, could compose, for hours together, in the easy run-
ning metre of "The Song of Hiawatha." Having, then, dis-
tinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the following
little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid
reader to confine his criticism to its treatment of the sub-
ject.]
From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood.
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly,
Folded into nearly nothing;
PHANTASMAGORIA 857
But he opened out the hinges,
Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges.
Till it looked all squares and oblongs,
Like a complicated figure
In the Second Book of Euclid.
This he perched upon a tripod —
Crouched beneath its dusky cover —
Stretched his hand, enforcing silence —
Said, "Be motionless, I beg you!"
Mystic, awful was the process.
All the family in order
Sat before him for their pictures :
Each in turn, as he was taken,
Volunteered his own suggestions,
His ingenious suggestions.
First the Governor, the Father :
He suggested velvet curtains
Looped about a massy pillar;
And the corner of a table,
Of a rosewood dining-table.
He would hold a scroll of something.
Hold it firmlv in his left-hand;
He would keep his right-hand buried
(Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;
He would contemplate the distance
With a look of pensive meaning,
As of ducks that die in tempests.
Grand, heroic was the notion:
Yet the picture failed entirely:
Failed, because he moved a little,
Moved, because he couldn't help it.
Next, his better half took courage;
She would tiave her picture taken.
She came dressed beyond description.
858 VERSE
Dressed in jewels and in satin
Far too gorgeous for an empress.
Gracefully she sat down sideways,
With a simper scarcely human,
Holding in her hand a bouquet
Rather larger than a cabbage.
All the while that she was sitting.
Still the lady chattered, chattered.
Like a monkey in the forest.
"Am I sitting still?" she asked him.
"Is my face enough in profile ?
Shall I hold the bouquet higher?
Will it come into the picture?"
And the picture failed completely.
Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab:
He suggested curves of beauty,
Curves pervading all his figure.
Which the eye might follow onward.
Till they centered in the breast-pin,
Centered in the golden breast-pin.
He had learnt it all from Ruskin
(Author of "The Stones of Venice,"
"Seven Lamps of Architecture,"
"Modern Painters," and some others);
And perhaps he had not fully
Understood his author's meaning;
But, whatever was the reason.
All was fruitless, as the picture
Ended in an utter failure.
Next to him the eldest daughter:
She suggested very little.
Only asked if he would take her
With her look of "passive beauty."
Her idea of passive beauty
PHANTASMAGORIA
Was a squinting of the left-eye,
Was a drooping of the right-eye.
Was a smile that went up sideways
To the corner of the nostrils.
Hiawatha, when she asked him,
Took no notice of the question.
Looked as if he hadn't heard it;
But, when pointedly appealed to,
Smiled in his peculiar manner,
Coughed and said it "didn't matter,"
Bit his lip and changed the subject.
Nor in this was he mistaken.
As the picture failed completely.
So in turn the other sisters.
Last, the youngest son was taken:
Very rough and thick his hair was,
Very round and red his face was.
Very dusty was his jacket.
Very fidgety his manner.
And his overbearing sisters
Called him names he disapproved of:
Called him Johnny, "Daddy's Darling,"
Called him Jacky, "Scrubby School-boy,'
And, so awful was the picture.
In comparison the others
Seemed, to one's bewildered fancy.
To have partially succeeded.
Finally my Hiawatha
Tumbled all the tribe together,
("Grouped" is not the right expression),
And, as happy chance would have it
Did at last obtain a picture
Where the faces all succeeded:
Each came out a perfect likeness.
859
?
\A-
860 VERSE
Then they joined and all abused it,
Unrestrainedly abused it,
As the worst and ugliest picture
They could possibly have dreamed of.
"Giving one such strange expressions —
Sullen, stupid, pert expressions.
Really anyone would take us
(Anyone that did not know us)
For the most unpleasant people!"
(Hiawatha seemed to think so,
Seemed to think it not unlikely).
All together rang their voices,
Angry, loud, discordant voices.
As of dogs that howl in concert,
As of cats that wail in chorus.
But my Hiawatha's patience,
His politeness and his patience,
Unaccountably had vanished.
And he left that happy party.
Neither did he leave them slowly.
With the calm deliberation,
The intense deliberation
Of a photographic artist:
But he left them in a hurry,
Left them in a mighty hurry,
Stating that he would not stand it.
Stating in emphatic language
What he'd be before he'd stand it.
Hurriedly he packed his boxes:
Hurriedly the porter trundled
On a barrow all his boxes :
Hurriedly he took his ticket:
Hurriedly the train received him:
Thus departed Hiawatha.
PHANTASMAGORIA 86l
MELANCHOLETTA
With saddest music all day long
She soothed her secret sorrow:
At night she sighed "I fear 'twas wrong
Such cheerful words to borrow.
Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song
I'll sing to thee to-morrow."
I thanked her, but I could not say
That I was glad to hear it:
I left the house at break of day.
And did not venture near it
Till time, I hoped, had worn away
Her grief, for nought could cheer it!
My dismal sister! Couldst thou know
The wretched home thou keepest!
Thy brother, drowned in daily woe,
Is thankful when thou sleepest;
For if I laugh, however low.
When thou'rt awake, thou weepest!
I took my sister t'other day
(Excuse the slang expression)
To Sadler's Wells to see the play
In hopes the new impression
Might in her thoughts, from grave to gay
Effect some slight digression.
I asked three gay young dogs from town
To join us in our folly.
Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown
862 VERSE
My sister's melancholy:
The lively Jones, the sportive Brown,
And Robinson the jolly.
The maid announced the meal in tones
, That I myself had taught her,
Meant to allay my sister's moans
Like oil on troubled water:
I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones,
And begged him to escort her.
Vainly he strove, with ready wit.
To joke about the weather —
To ventilate the last ''on dit" —
To quote the price of leather —
She groaned "Here I and Sorrow sit:
Let us lament together!"
I urged "You're wasting time, you know
Delay will spoil the venison."
"My heart is wasted with my woe!
There is no rest — in Venice, on
The Bridge of Sighs!" she quoted low
From Byron and from Tennyson.
I need not tell of soup and fish
In solemn silence swallowed.
The sobs that ushered in each dish,
'-, , And its departure followed,
Nor yet my suicidal wish
To be the cheese I hollowed.
Some desperate attempts were made
; To start a conversation;
PHANTASMAGORIA 863
*'Madam," the sportive Brown essayed,
"Which kind of recreation,
Hunting or fishing, have you made
Your special occupation?"
Her Hps curved downwards instantly,
As if of india-rubber.
"Hounds in full cry I like," said she:
(Oh, how I longed to snub her!)
^'Of fish, a whale's the one for me,
It is so full of blubberT
The night's performance was "King John."
"It's dull," she wept, "and so-so!"
Awhile I let her tears flow on.
She said they soothed her woe so!
At length the curtain rose upon
"Bombastes Furioso."
In vain we roared; in vain we tried
To rouse her into laughter:
Her pensive glances wandered wide
From orchestra to rafter —
^'Tier upon tierT she said, and sighed;
And silence followed after.
h
A VALENTINE
[Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad
enough to see him when he came, but didn't seem to miss
him if he stayed away.]
And cannot pleasures, while they last,
Be actual unless, when past.
864 VERSE
They leave us shuddering and aghast,
With anguish smarting?
And cannot friends be firm and fast,
And yet bear parting? •
And must I then, at Friendship's call,
Calmly resign the little all
(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)
I have of gladness.
And lend my being, to the thrall
Of gloom and sadness?
And think you that I should be dumb,
And full dolorum omnium^
Excepting when you choose to come
And share my dinner?
At other times be sour and glum
And daily thinner?
Must he then only live to weep,
Who'd prove his friendship true and deep,
By day a lonely shadow creep,
At night-time languish,
Oft raising in his broken sleep
The moan of anguish?
The lover, if for certain days
His fair one be denied his gaze.
Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,
But, wiser wooer.
He spends the time in writing lays.
And posts them to her.
And if the verse flow free and fast.
Till even the poet is aghast,
PHANTASMAGORIA 865
'A touching Valentine at last
The post shall carry,
When thirteen days are gone and past
Of February.
Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,
In desert waste or crowded street.
Perhaps before this week shall fleet,
Perhaps to-morrow,
I trust to find your heart the seat
Of wasting sorrow.
THE THREE VOICES
The First Voice
He trilled a carol fresh and free.
He laughed aloud for very glee:
There came a breeze from off the sea :
It passed athwart the glooming flat —
It fanned his forehead as he sat —
It lightly bore away his hat,
All to the feet of one who stood
Like maid enchanted in a wood,
Frowning as darkly as she could.
With huge umbrella, lank and brown,
Unerringly she pinned it down.
Right through the centre of the crown.
866 VERSE
Then, with an aspect cold and grim,
Regardless of its battered rim.
She took it up and gave it him.
A while like one in dreams he stood,
Then faltered forth his gratitude
In words just short of being rude:
For it had lost its shape and shine,
And it had cost him four-and-nine,
And he was going out to dine.
"To dine!" she sneered in acid tone,
"To bend thy being to a bone
Clothed in a radiance not its own!"
The tear-drop trickled to his chin :
There was a meaning in her grin
That made him feel on fire within.
"Term it not 'radiance,' " said he:
" 'Tis solid nutriment to me.
Dinner is Dinner: Tea is Tea."
And she, "Yea so? Yet wherefore cease?
Let thy scant knowledge find increase.
Say *Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.
> »>
He moaned : he knew not what to say.
The thought "That I could get away!"
Strove with the thought "But I must stay."
"To dine!" she shrieked in dragon-wrath.
"To swallow wines all foam and froth!
To simper at a table-cloth!
PHANTASMAGORIA 867
"Say, can thy noble spirit stoop
To join the gormandising troop
Who find a solace in the soup ?
"Canst thou desire or pie or puflf?
Thy well-bred manners were enough,
Without such gross material stuff."
"Yet well-bred men/' he faintly said,
"Are not unwilling to be fed :
Nor are they well without the bread."
Her visage scorched him ere she spoke:
"There are," she said, "a kind of folk
Who have no horror of a joke.
"Such wretches live: they take their share
Of common earth and common air :
We come across them here and there :
"We grant them — there is no escape —
A sort of semi-human shape
Suggestive of the man-like Ape."
"In all such theories," said he,
"One fixed exception there must be.
That is, the Present Company."
Baffled, she gave a wolfish bark :
He, aiming blindly in the dark,
With random shaft had pierced the mark.
She felt that her defeat was plain,
Yet madly strove with might and main
To get the upper hand again.
868 VERSE
Fixing her eyes upon the beach,
As though unconscious of his speech,
She said "Each gives to more than each."
He could not answer yea or nay :
He faltered "Gifts may pass away."
Yet knew not what he meant to say.
"If that be so," she straight replied,
"Each heart with each doth coincide.
What boots it? For the world is wide."
"The world is but a Thought," said he:
"The vast unfathomable sea
Is but a Notion — unto me."
And darkly fell her answer dread
Upon his unresisting head.
Like half a hundredweight of lead.
"The Good and Great must ever shun
That reckless and abandoned one
Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.
"The man that smokes — that reads The Times-
That goes to Christmas Pantomimes —
Is capable of any crimes!"
He felt it was his turn to speak,
And, with a shamed and crimson cheek,
Moaned "This is harder than Bezique!"
But when she asked him "Wherefore so.^"
He felt his very whiskers glow,
And frankly owned "I do not know."
PHANTASMAGORIA 869
While, like broad waves of golden grain,
Or sunlit hues on cloistered pane.
His colour came and went again.
Pitying his obvious distress.
Yet with a tinge o£ bitterness.
She said "The More exceeds the Less.
)>
^'A truth of such undoubted weight,"
He urged, "and so extreme in date,
It were superfluous to state."
Roused into sudden passion, she
In tone of cold malignity :
"To others, yea : but not to thee."
But when she saw him quail and quake,
And when he urged "For pity's sake!"
Once more in gentle tones she spake.
''^Thought in the mind doth still abide
That is by Intellect supplied.
And within that Idea doth hide:
^'And he, that yearns the truth to know
Still further inwardly may go.
And find Idea from Notion flow :
^'And thus the chain, that sages sought,
Is to a glorious circle wrought.
For Notion hath its source in Thought."
So passed they on with even pace :
Yet gradually one might trace
A shadow growing on his face.
870 VERSE
The Second Voice
They walked beside tlie wave- worn beach;
Her tongue was very apt to teach.
And now and then he did beseech
She would abate her dulcet tone.
Because the talk was all her own,
And he was dull as any drone.
5>
v
She urged "No cheese is made of chalk
And ceaseless flowed her dreary talk,
Tuned to the footfall of a walk.
Her voice was very full and rich,
And, when at length she asked him "Which?'*
It mounted to its highest pitch.
He a bewildered answer gave.
Drowned in the sullen moaning wave,
Lost in the echoes of the cave.
He answered her he knew not what:
Like shaft from bow at random shot,
He spoke, but she regarded not.
She waited not for his reply,
But with a downward leaden eye
Went on as if he were not by —
Sound argument and grave defence.
Strange questions raised on "Why?" and "Whence?"
And wildly tangled evidence.
PHANTASMAGORIA 87I
When he, with racked and whirUng brain,
Feebly implored her to explain,
She simply said it all again.
Wrenched with an agony intense,
He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense,
And careless of all consequence :
"Mind — I believe — is Essence — Ent —
Abstract — that is — an Accident —
Which we — that is to say — I meant —
)>
When, with quick breath and cheeks all flushed,
At length his speech was somewhat hushed.
She looked at him, and he was crushed.
It needed not her calm reply :
She fixed him with a stony eye.
And he could neither fight nor fly.
While she dissected, word by word,
His speech, half-guessed at and half heard,
As might a cat a little bird.
Then, having wholly overthrown
His views, and stripped them to the bone.
Proceeded to unfold her own.
"Shall Man be Man? And shall he miss
Of other thoughts no thought but this,
Harmonious dews of sober bliss?
I
\
"What boots it? Shall his fevered eye
Through towering nothingness descry
The grisly phantom hurry by?
; I A> J i^''
872 VERSE
"And hear dumb shrieks that fill the air;
See mouths that gape, and eyes that stare
And redden in the dusky glare?
"The meadows breathing amber light.
The darkness toppling from the height.
The feathery train of granite Night?
"Shall he, grown gray among his peers,
Through the thick curtain of his tears
Catch glimpses of his earlier years,
"And hear the sounds he knew of yore,
Old shufflings on the sanded floor.
Old knuckles tapping at the door?
"Yet still before him as he flies
One pallid form shall ever rise.
And, bodying forth in glassy eyes
"The vision of a vanished good.
Low peering through the tangled wood.
Shall freeze the current of his blood."
Still from each fact, with skill uncouth
And savage rapture, like a tooth
She wrenched some slow reluctant truth.
Till, like a silent water-mill.
When summer suns have dried the rill.
She reached a full stop, and was still.
Dead calm succeeded to the fuss,
As when the loaded omnibus
Has reached the railway terminus :
PHANTASMAGORIA 873
When, for the tumult of the street,
Is heard the engine's stifled beat.
The velvet tread of porters' feet.
With glance that ever sought the ground,
She moved her lips without a sound.
And every now and then she frowned.
He gazed upon the sleeping sea.
And joyed in its tranquillity,
And in that silence dead, but she
To muse a little space did seem.
Then, like the echo of a dream.
Harked back upon her threadbare theme.
Still an attentive ear he lent
But could not fathom what she meant:
She was not deep, nor eloquent.
He marked the ripple on the sand :
The even swaying of her hand
Was all that he could understand.
He saw in dreams a drawing-room.
Where thirteen wretches sat in gloom.
Waiting — he thought he knew for whom :
He saw them drooping here and there,
Each feebly huddled on a chair,
In attitudes of blank despair :
Oysters were not more mute than they.
For all their brains were pumped away.
And they had nothing more to say —
874 VERSE
Save one, who groaned "Three hours are gone!"
Who shrieked "We'll wait no longer, John!
Tell them to set the dinner on!"
The vision passed : the ghosts were fled :
He saw once more that woman dread :
He heard once more the words she said.
He left her, and he turned aside:
He sat and watched the coming tide
Across the shores so newly dried.
He wondered at the waters clear,
The breeze that whispered in his ear,
The billows heaving far and near,
And why he had so long preferred
To hang upon her every word :
"In truth," he said, "it was absurd."
The Third Voice
Not long this transport held its place :
Within a little moment's space
Quick tears were raining down his face.
His heart stood still, aghast with fear;
A wordless voice, nor far nor near,
He seemed to hear and not to hear.
"Tears kindle not the doubtful spark.
If so, why not? Of this remark
The bearings are profoundly dark."
PHANTASMAGORIA 875
*'Her speech," he said, "hath caused this pain.
Easier I count it to explain
The jargon o£ the howhng main,
"Or, stretched beside some babbUng brook,
To con, with inexpressive look.
An unintelligible book."
Low spake the voice within his head.
In words imagined more than said.
Soundless as ghost's intended tread:
"If thou art duller than before,
Why quittedst thou the voice of lore.f^
Why not endure, expecting more?"
"Rather than that," he groaned aghast,
"Fd writhe in depths of cavern vast.
Some loathly vampire's rich repast."
" 'Twere hard," it answered, "themes immense
To coop within the narrow fence
That rings thy scant intelligence."
"Not so," he urged, "nor once alone:
But there was something in her tone
That chilled me to the very bone.
"Her style was anything but clear,
And most unpleasantly severe;
Her epithets were very queer.
"And yet, so grand were her replies,
I could not choose but deem her wise;
I did not dare to criticise:
876 VERSE
"Nor did I leave her, till she went
So deep in tangled argument
That all my powers of thought were spent."
A little whisper inly slid,
"Yet truth is truth: you know you did."
A little wink beneath the lid.
And, sickened with excess of dread,
Prone to the dust he bent his head,
And lay like one three-quarters dead.
The whisper left him — like a breeze
. Lost in the depths of leafy trees —
Left him by no means at his ease.
Once more he weltered in despair,
With hands, through denser-matted hair,
More tightly clenched than then they were.
When, bathed in Dawn of living red,
Majestic frowned the mountain head,
"Tell me my fault," was all he said.
When, at high Noon, the blazing sky
Scorched in his head each haggard eye.
Then keenest rose his weary cry.
And when at Eve the unpitying sun
Smiled grimly on the solemn fun,
"Alack," he sighed, "what have I done?"
But saddest, darkest was the sight.
When the cold grasp of leaden Night
Dashed him to earth, and held him tight.
PHANTASMAGORIA 877
Tortured, unaided, and alone.
Thunders were silence to his groan,
Bagpipes sweet music to its tone :
"What? Ever thus, in dismal round,
Shall Pain and Mystery profound
Pursue me like a sleepless hound,
"With crimson-dashed and eager jaws,
Me, still in ignorance of the cause.
Unknowing what I broke of laws?"
The whisper to his ear did seem
Like echoed flow of silent stream,
Or shadow of forgotten dream,
The whisper trembling in the wind:
"Her fate with thine was intertwined,"
So spake it in his inner mind :
"Each orbed on each a baleful star:
Each proved the other's blight and bar :
Each unto each were best, most far :
"Yea, each to each was worse than foe:
Thou, a scared dullard, gibbering low.
And she, an avalanche of woe!"
878 VERSE
THEME WITH VARIATIONS
[Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that
process of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to hei
sister-art Music? The Diluter gives us first a few^ notes oi
some well-know^n Air, then a dozen bars of his ow^n, then a
few more notes of the Air, and so on alternately: thus sav-
ing the listener, if not from all risk of recognising the
melody at all, at least from the too-exciting transports which
it might produce in a more concentrated form. The procesj
is termed "setting" by Composers, and any one, that has ever
experienced the emotion of being unexpectedly set down in a
heap of mortar, will recognise the truthfulness of this happy
phrase.
For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly
over a morsel of supreme Venison — whose every fibre seems
to murmur "Excelsior!" — yet swallows, ere returning to the
toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of oatmeal-porridge and
winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in Claret per-
mits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint 01
more of boarding-school beer: so also — ]
I NEVER loved a dear Gazelle —
Nor anything tJiat cost me much:
High prices profit those who sell,
But why should I be fond of such?
To glad me with his soft black eye
My son comes trotting home from school;
Hes had a fight but cant tell why —
He always was a little fool!
But, when he came to know me well,
He kicked me out, her testy Sire:
And when I stained my hair, that Belle
Might note the^ change, and thus admire
PHANTASMAGORIA 879
And love me, it was sure to dye
A muddy green, or staring blue:
Whilst one might trace, with half an eye,
The still triumphant carrot through.
A GAME OF FIVES
Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
Sitting down to lessons — no more time for tricks.
i
Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:
Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!
Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:
Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which
you meanT
Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one :
But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
Five showy girls — but Thirty is an age
When girls may be engaging, but they somehow don't
engage.
Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more :
So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much
before!
^F ^ff *^ tF tP ^
Five passe girls — Their age? Well, never mind!
We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
88o VERSE
But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he
knows
The answer to that ancient problem "how the money
goes'M
POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR
"How shall I be a poet?
How shall I write in rhyme:
You told me once *the very wish
Partook o£ the sublime.'
Then tell me how! Don't put me oflE
With your 'another time'!"
The old man smiled to see him,
To hear his sudden sally;
He liked the lad to speak his mind
Enthusiastically;
And thought "There's no hum-drum in him,
Nor any shilly-shally."
"And would you be a poet
Before you've been to school.f^
Ah, well! I hardly thought you
So absolute a fool.
First learn to be spasmodic —
A very simple rule.
"For first you write a sentence,
And then you chop it small;
Then mix the bits, and sort them out
Just as they chance to fall :
The order of the phrases makes
No difference at all.
PHANTASMAGORIA 88l
"Then, if you'd be impressive.
Remember what I say,
That abstract quahties begin
With capitals alway :
The True, the Good, the Beautiful —
Those are the things that pay!
"Next, when you are describing
A shape, or sound, or tint;
Don't state the matter plainly,
But put it in a hint;
And learn to look at all things
With a sort of mental squint."
"For instance, if I wished. Sir,
Of mutton-pies to tell.
Should I say ^dreams of fleecy flocks
Pent in a wheaten cell'?"
"Why, yes," the old man said: "that phrase
Would answer very well.
"Then fourthly, there are epithets
That suit with any word —
As well as Harvey's Reading Sauce
With fish, or flesh, or bird —
Of these, 'wild,' 'lonely,' 'weary,' 'strange,'
Are much to be preferred."
"And will it do, O will it do
To take them in a lump —
As 'the wild man went his weary way
To a strange and lonely pump'?"
"Nay, nay! You must not hastily
To such conclusions jump.
882 VERSE
"Such epithets, Uke pepper.
Give zest to what you write;
And, if you strew them sparely,
They whet the appetite:
But if you lay them on too thick,
You spoil the matter quite!
"Last, as to the arrangement:
Your reader, you should show him,
Must take what information he
Can get, and look for no im-
mature disclosure of the drift
And purpose of your poem.
"Therefore, tp test his patience —
How much he can endure —
Mention no places, names, or dates,
And evermore be sure
Throughout the poem to be found
Consistently obscure.
"First fix upon the limit
To which it shall extend :
Then fill it up with Tadding'
(Beg some of any friend) :
Your great Sensation-stanza
You place towards the end."
"And what is a Sensation,
Grandfather, tell me, pray?
I think I never heard the word
So used before to-day:
Be kind enough to mention one
^Exempli gratia'
•/!?>?
PHANTASMAGORIA 883
And the old man, looking sadly
Across the garden-lawn,
Where here and there a dew-drop
Yet glittered in the dawn,
Said "Go to the Adelphi,
And see the *Colleen Bawn.'
"The word is due to Boucicault —
The theory is his.
Where life becomes a Spasm,
And History a Whiz:
If that is not Sensation,
I don't know what it is.
"Now try your hand, ere Fancy
Have lost its present glow — "
"And then," his grandson added,
"We'll publish it, you know:
Green cloth — gold-lettered at the back —
In duodecimo!"
Then proudly smiled that old man
To see the eager lad
Rush madly for his pen and ink
And for his blotting-pad —
But, when he thought of publishing^
His face grew stern and sad.
884 VERSE
SIZE AND TEARS
When on the sandy shore I sit,
Beside the salt sea-wave,
And faUing into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave —
A little whisper at my ear
Enquires the reason o£ my fear.
I answer "If that ruffian Jones
Should recognise me here,
He'd bellow out my name in tones
Offensive to the ear:
He chaffs me so on being stout
(A thing that always puts me out)."
Ah me! I see him on the cliff!
Farewell, farewell to hope.
If he should look this way, and if
He's got his telescope!
To whatsoever place I flee,
My odious rival follows me!
For every night, and everywhere,
I meet him out at dinner;
And when I've found some charming fair,
And vowed to die or win her.
The wretch (he's thin and I am stout)
Is sure to come and cut me out!
The girls (just like them!) all agree
To praise J. Jones, Esquire:
I ask them what on earth they see
About him to admire?
PHANTASMAGORIA 885
They cry "He is so sleek and slim,
It's quite a treat to look at him!"
They vanish in tobacco smoke,
Those visionary maids —
I feel a sharp and sudden poke
Between the shoulder-blades —
"Why, Brown, my boy! You're growing stout!"
(I told you he would find me out!)
"My growth is not your business. Sir!"
"No more it is, my boy!
But if it's yours, as I infer.
Why, Brown, I give you joy!
A man, whose business prospers so.
Is just the sort of man to know!
"It's hardly safe, though, talking here —
I'd best get out of reach:
For such a weight as yours, I fear,
Must shortly sink the beach!" —
Insult me thus because I'm stout!
I vow I'll go and call him out!
ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN
Ay, 'twas here, on this spot.
In that summer of yore,
Atalanta did not
Vote my presence a bore.
Nor reply to my tenderest talk "She had heard all that
nonsense before."
She'd the brooch I had bought
886 VERSE
And the necklace and sash on,
And her heart, as I thought,
Was ahve to my passion;
And she'd done up her hair in the style that the Empress
had brought into fashion.
I had been to the play
With my pearl of a Peri —
But, for all I could say.
She declared she was weary,
That "the place was so crowded and hot, and she couldn't
abide that Dundreary.'*
«
Then I thought "Lucky boy!
'Tis for you that she whimpers!"
And I noted with joy
Those sensational simpers:
And I said "This is scrumptious!" — a phrase I had learned
from the Devonshire shrimpers.
And I vowed " 'Twill be said
I'm a fortunate fellow,
When the breakfast is spread.
When the topers are mellow,
When the foam of the bride-cake is white, and the fierce
orange blossoms are yellow!"
0 that languishing yawn!
O those eloquent eyes!
1 was drunk with the dawn
Of a splendid surmise —
I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear, by a tempest
of sighs. \
PHANTASMAGORIA 887
Then I whispered "I see
The sweet secret thou keepest.
And the yearning for ME
That thou wistfully weepest!
And the question is 'License or Banns?' though undoubt-
edly Banns are the cheapest."
"Be my Hero/' said I,
"And let me be Leander!"
But I lost her reply —
Something ending with "gander" —
For the omnibus rattled so loud that no mortal could
quite understand her.
THE LANG COORTIN'
The ladye she stood at her lattice high,
Wi' her doggie at her feet;
Thorough the lattice she can spy
The passers in the street,
"There's one that standeth at the door.
And tirleth at the pin:
Now speak and say, my popinjay.
If I sail let him in."
Then up and spake the popinjay
That flew abune her head:
"Gae let him in that tirls the pin i
He Cometh thee to wed."
888 VERSE
0 when he cam' the parlour in,
A woeful man was he!
''And dinna ye ken your lover agen,
Sae well that loveth thee?"
"And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir,
That have been sae lang away?
And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir ?
Ye never telled me sae."
Said — "Ladye dear," and the salt, salt tear
Cam' rinnin' doon his cheek,
"I have sent the tokens of my love
This many and many a week.
"O didna ye get the rings, Ladye,
The rings o' the go wd sae fine ?
1 wot that I have sent to thee
Four score, four score and nine."
"They cam' to me," said that fair ladye.
"Wow, they were flimsie things!"
Said — "that chain o' gowd, my doggie to howd.
It is made o' thae self-same rings."
"And didna ye get the locks, the locks,
The locks o' my ain black hair,
Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box,
Whilk I sent by the carrier?"
"They cam' to me," said that fair ladye;
"And I prithee send nae mair!"
Said — "that cushion sae red, for my doggie's head.
It is stuffed wi' thae locks o' hair."
PHANTASMAGORIA 889
"And didna ye get the letter, Ladye,
Tied wi' a silken string,
Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie,
A message o£ love to bring?"
"It cam' to me frae the far countrie
Wi' its silken string and a';
But it wasna prepaid," said that high-born maid,
"Sae I gar'd them tak' it awa\"
"O ever alack that ye sent it back.
It was written sae clerkly and well!
Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought,
I must even say it mysel'."
Then up and spake the popinjay,
Sae wisely counselled he.
"Now say it in the proper way:
Gae doon upon thy knee!"
The lover he turned baith red and pale,
Went doon upon his knee:
"O Ladye, hear the waesome tale
That must be told to thee!
"For five lang years, and five lang years,
I coorted thee by looks ;
By nods and winks, by smiles and tears,
As I had read in books.
"For ten lang years, O weary hours!
I coorted thee by signs;
By sending game, by sending flowers.
By sending Valentines.
890 VERSE
"For five lang years, and five lang years,
I have dwelt in the far countrie,
Till that thy mind should be inclined
Mair tenderly to me.
"Now thirty years are gane and past,
I am come f rae a foreign land :
I am come to tell thee my love at last —
O Ladye, gie me thy hand!"
The ladye she turned not pale nor red,
But she smiled a pitiful smile:
^*Sic' a coortin' as yours, my man," she said,
"Takes a lang and a weary while!"
And out and laughed the popinjay,
A laugh of bitter scorn :
"A coortin' done in sic' a way.
It ought not to be borne!"
Wi' that the doggie barked aloud.
And up and doon he ran.
And tugged and strained his chain o' gowd.
All for to bite the man.
"O hush thee, gentle popinjay!
O hush thee, doggie dear!
There is a word I fain wad say.
It needeth he should hear!"
Aye louder screamed that ladye fair
To drown her doggie's bark:
Ever the lover shouted mair
To make that ladye hark:
PHANTASMAGORIA 89I
Shrill and more shrill the popinjay
Upraised his angry squall:
I trow the doggie's voice that day
Was louder than them all!
The serving-men and serving-maids
Sat by the kitchen fire :
They heard sic' a din the parlour within
As made them much admire.
Out spake the boy in buttons
(I ween he wasna thin),
"Now wha will tae the parlour gae,
And stay this deadlie din?"
And they have taen a kerchief,
Casted their kevils in,
For wha will tae the parlour gae,
And stav that deadlie din.
When on that boy the kevil fell
To stay the fearsome noise,
"Gae in," they cried, "whate'er betide.
Thou prince of button-boys!"
Syne, he has taen a supple cane
To swinge that dog sae fat:
The doggie yowled, the doggie howled
The louder aye for that.
Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane —
The doggie ceased his noise,
And followed doon the kitchen stair
That prince of button-boys!
892 VERSE
Then sadly spake that ladye fair,
Wi' a frown upon her brow:
"O dearer to me is my sma' doggie
Than a dozen sic' as thou!
"Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears:
Nae use at all to fret:
Sin' ye've bided sae well for thirty years.
Ye may bide a wee langer yet!"
Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor
And tirled at the pin:
Sadly went he through the doof
Where sadly he cam' in.
"O gin I had a popinjay
To fly abune my head,
To tell me what I ought to say,
I had by this been wed.
"O gin I find anither ladye,"
He said wi' sighs and tears,
"I wot my coortin' sail not be
Anither thirty years
"For gin I find a ladye gay,
Exactly to my taste,
I'll pop the question, aye or nay,
In twenty years at maist."
\
PHANTASMAGORIA 893
FOUR RIDDLES
[These consist of two Double Acrostics and two Charades.
No. I. was written at the request of some young friends,
who had gone to a ball at an Oxford Commemoration — and
also as a specimen of what might be done by making the
Double Acrostic a connected poem instead of what it has
hitherto been, a string of disjointed stanzas, on every con-
ceivable subject, and about as interesting to read straight
through as a page of a Cyclopedia. The first two stanzas
describe the two main words, and each subsequent stanza
one of the cross "lights."
No. II. was written after seeing Miss Ellen Terry per-
form in the play of "Hamlet." In this case the first stanza
describes the two main words.
No. III. was written after seeing Mis^ Marion Terry per-
form in Mr. Gilbert's play of "Pygmalion and Galatea." The
three stanzas respectively describe "My First/' "My Second^,"
and "My Whole."]
I
There was an ancient City, stricken down
With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
And danced the night away.
I asked the cause : the aged man grew sad :
They pointed to a building gray and tall,
And hoarsely answered "Step inside, my lad,
And then you'll see it all."
Yet what are all such gaieties to me
Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds.?
^^ + 7^ + 53
II
894 VERSE
But something whispered "It will soon be done:
Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile:
Endure with patience the distasteful fun
For just a little while!"
A change came o'er my Vision — it was night :
We clove a pathway through a frantic throng:
The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright :
The chariots whirled along.
Within a marble hall a river ran —
A living tide, half muslin and half cloth:
And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan.
Yet swallowed down her wrath;
And here one offered to a thirsty fair
(His words half-drowned amid those thunders tuneful)
Some frozen viand (there were many there),
A tooth-ache in each spoonful.
There comes a happy pause, for human strength
Will not endure to dance without cessation;
And every one must reach the point at length
Of absolute prostration.
At such a moment ladies learn to give,
To partners who would urge them overmuch,
A flat and yet decided negative —
Photographers love such. .
There comes a welcome summons — hope revives.
And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken:
Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives
Dispense the tongue and chicken.
PHANTASMAGORIA 895
Flushed with new U£e, the crowd flows back again:
And all is tangled talk and mazy motion —
Much like a waving field of golden grain,
Or a tempestuous ocean.
And thus they give the time, that Nature meant
For peaceful sleep and meditative snores.
To ceaseless din and mindless merriment
And waste of shoes and floors.
And One (we name him not) that flies the flowers,
That dreads the dances, and that shuns the salads,
They doom to pass in solitude the hours.
Writing acrostic-ballads.
How late it grows! The hour is surely past
That should have warned us with its double knock ?
The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last —
"Oh, Uncle, what's o'clock?"
The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks.
It may mean much, but how is one to know.f*
He opes his mouth — yet out of it, methinks,
No words of wisdom flow.
Answer: Commemoration, Monstrosities.
II
Empress of Art, for thee I twine
This wreath with all too slender skill.
Forgive my Muse each halting line,
And for the deed accept the will!
O day of tears! Whence comes this spectre grim,
Parting, like Death's cold river, souls that love?
896 VERSE
Is not he bound to thee, as thou to him,
By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above?
And still it lives, that keen and heavenward flame,
Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:
And these wild words o£ fury but proclaim
A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone!
But all is lost : that mighty mind overthrown,
Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see!
"Doubt that the stars are fire," so runs his moan,
"Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for thee!"
A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire
Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile!
And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar?
And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile ?
Nay, get thee hence! Leave all thy winsome ways
And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers:
In holy silence wait the appointed days.
And weep away the leaden-footed hours.
Answer: Ellen Terry.
Ill
The air is bright with hues of light
And rich with laughter and with singing:
Young hearts beat high in ecstasy.
And banners wave, and bells are ringing:
But silence falls with fading day.
And there's an end to mirth and play.
Ah, well-a^day!
PHANTASMAGORIA 897
Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!
The ketde sings, the firelight dances.
Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught
That fills the soul with golden fancies!
For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,
And ye are withered, worn, and gray.
Ah, well-a-day!
O fair cold face! O form of grace,
For human passion madly yearning!
O weary air of dumb despair.
From marble won, to marble turning!
"Leave us not thus!" we fondly pray.
"We cannot let thee pass away!"
Ah, well-a-day!
Answer: Galatea (Gala-tea).
IV
My First is singular at best:
More plural is my Second :
My Third is far the pluralest —
So plural-plural, I protest
It scarcely can be reckoned!
My First is followed by a bird :
My Second by believers
In magic art: my simple Third
Follows, not often, hopes absurd
And plausible deceivers.
My First to get at wisdom tries —
A failure melancholy!
898 VERSE
My Second men revered as wise:
My Third from heights of wisdom flies
To depths of frantic folly. 1
My First is ageing day by day :
My Second's age is ended:
My Third enjoys an age, they say,
That never seems to fade away,
Through centuries extended.
My Whole? I need a poet's pen
To paint her myriad phases:
The monarch, and the slave, of men —
A mountain-summit, and a den
Of dark and deadly mazes —
A flashing light — a fleeting shade —
Beginning, end, and middle
Of all that human art hath made
Or wit devised! Go, seek her aid,
If you would read my riddle!
Answer: Imagination (I-Magi-nation).
FAME'S PENNY-TRUMPET
[Affectionately dedicated to all "original researchers" who
pant for "endowment."]
Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back —
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
PHANTASMAGORIA 899
Fill all the air with hungry wails —
"Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!"
And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
And Babel-clamour of the sty.
Be yours the pay : be theirs the praise :
We will not rob them of their due.
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.
They sought and found undying fame:
They toiled not for reward nor thanks :
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks!
Who preach of Justice — plead with tears
That Love and Mercy should abound —
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound :
Who prate of Wisdom — nay, forbear.
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
The vermin that beset her path!
Go, throng each other's drawing-rooms,
Ye idols of a petty clique:
Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes
And make your penny-trumpets squeak :
900 VERSE
Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
Of learning from a nobler time.
And oil each other's little heads
With mutual Flattery's golden slime:
And when the topmost height ye gain,
And stand in Glory's ether clear,
And grasp the prize of all your pain —
So many hundred pounds a year —
Then let Fame's banner be unfurled!
Sing Paeans for a victory won!
Ye tapers, that would light the world.
And cast a shadow on the Sun —
Who still shall pour His rays sublime,
One crystal flood, from East to West,
When ye have burned your little time
And feebly flickered into rest!
s
COLLEGE RHYMES AND
NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL
FROM COLLEGE RHYMES
ODE TO DAMON
{From Chloe, who Understands His Meaning,)
"Oh, do not forget the day when we met
At the fruiterer's shop in the city :
When you said I was plain and excessively vain,
But I knew that you meant I was pretty.
"Recollect, too, the hour when I purchased the flour
(For the dumplings, you know) and the suet;
Whilst the apples I told my dear Damon to holdj
(Just to see if you knew how to do it) .
"Then recall to your mind how you left me behind.
And went off in a 'bus with the pippins;
When you said you'd forgot, but I knew you had not\
(It was merely to save the odd threepence!).
"Don't forget your delight in the dumplings that night,
Though you said they were tasteless and doughy :
But you winked as you spoke, and I saw that the joke
(// // was one) was meant for your Chloe!
901
902 VERSE
"Then remember the day when Joe oflEered to pay
For us all at the Great Exhibition;
You proposed a short cut, and we found the thing shut,
(We were two hours too late for admission).
"Your 'short cut', dear, we found took us seven miles
round
(And Joe said exactly what we did) :
Well, / helped you out then — it was just like you men —
Not an atom of sense when it's needed!
''You said * What's to be done?' and / thought you in fun,
(Never dreaming you were such a ninny).
'Home directly!' said I, and you paid for the fly,
(And I thin\ that you gave him a guinea).
"Well, that notion, you said, had not entered your head:
You proposed 'The best thing, as we're come, is
(Since it opens again in the morning at ten)
To wait' — Oh, you prince of all dummies!
"And when Joe asked you 'Why, if a man were to die,
Just as you ran a sword through his middle.
You'd be hung for the crime?' and you said 'Give me
time!'
And brought to your Chloe the riddle —
"Why, remember, you dunce, how I solved it at once —
(The question which Joe had referred to you),
Why, I told you the cause, was 'the force of the laws,'
And you said 'It had never occurred to you!
"This instance will show that your brain is too slow,
And (though your exterior is showy).
COLLEGE RHYMES 903
Yet so arrant a goose can be no sort of use
To society — come to your Chloe!
"You'll find no one like me, who can manage to see
Your meaning, you talk so obscurely :
Why, if once I were gone, how would you get on ?
Come, you know what I mean, Damon, surely."
1861.
THOSE HORRID HURDY-GURDIES!
A MONODY, BY A VICTIM
"My mother bids me bind my hair,"
And not go about such a figure;
It's a bother, of course, but what do I care ?
I shall do as I please when I'm bigger.
"My lodging is on the cold, cold ground,"
As the first-floor and attic were taken.
I tried the garret but once, and found
That my wish for a change was mistaken.
"Ever of thee!" yes, "Ever of thee!"
They chatter more and more.
Till I groan aloud, "Oh! let me be!
I have heard it all before!"
"Please remember the organ, sir,"
What? hasn't he left me yet?
I promise, good man ; for its tedious burr
I never can forget.
1861.
904 VERSE
MY FANCY
I PAINTED her a gushing thing,
With years perhaps a score;
I httle thought to find they were
At least a dozen more;
My fancy gave her eyes of blue,
A curly auburn head:
I came to find the blue a green,
The auburn turned to red.
She boxed my ears this morning,
They tingled very much;
I own that I could wish her
A somewhat lighter touch;
And if you were to ask me how
Her charms might be improved,
I would not have them added to^
But just a few removed!
She has the bear's ethereal grace.
The bland hyena's laugh,
The footstep of the elephant.
The neck of the giraffe;
I love her still, believe me.
Though my heart its passion hides;
"She's all my fancy painted her,"
But oh! how much besides!
Mar. 15, 1862.
COLLEGE RHYMES 905
THE MAJESTY OF JUSTICE
AN OXFORD IDYLL
They passed beneath the College gate;
And down the High went slowly on;
Then spake the Undergraduate
To that benign and portly Don:
"They say that Justice is a Queen —
A Queen of awful Majesty —
Yet in the papers I have seen
Some things that puzzle me.
"A Court obscure, so rumour states,
There is, called 'Vice-Cancellarii,'
Which keeps on Undergraduates,
Who do not pay their bills, a wary eye.
A case I'm told was lately brought
Into that tiniest of places,
And justice in that case was sought —
As in most other cases.
"Well! Justice as I hold, dear friend,
Is Justice, neither more than less:
I never dreamed it could depend
On ceremonial or dress.
I thought that her imperial sway
In Oxford surely would appear,
But all the papers seem to say
She 's not majestic hereT
The portly Don he made reply,
With the most roguish of his glances,
906 VERSE
"Perhaps she drops her Majesty
Under pecuhar circumstances."
"But that's the point!" the young man cried,
"The puzzle that I wish to pen you in —
How are the pubhc to decide
Which article is genuine?
"Is't only when the Court is large
That we for ^Majesty' need hunt?
Would what is Justice in a barge
Be something diflferent in a punt?
"Nay, nay!" the Don replied, amused,
"You're talking nonsense, sir! You know it!
Such arguments were never used
By any friend of Jowett."
"Then is it in the men who trudge
(Beef-eaters I believe they call them)
Before each wigged and ermined judge,
For fear some mischief should befall them ?
If I should recognise in one
(Through all disguise) my own domestic,
I fear 'twould shed a gleam of fun
Even on the 'Majestic'!"
The portly Don replied, "Ahem!
They can't exactly be its essence:
I scarcely think the want of them
The 'Majesty of Justice' lessens.
Besides, they always march awry;
Their gorgeous garments never fit:
Processions don't make Majesty —
I'm quite convinced of it."
COLLEGE RHYMES 907
''Then is it in tlie wig it lies,
Whose countless rows of rigid curls
Are gazed at with admiring eyes
By country lads and servant-girls?"
Out laughed that bland and courteous Don :
"Dear sir, I do not mean to flatter —
But surely you have hit upon
The essence of the matter.
"They will not own the Majesty
Of Justice, making Monarchs bow,
Unless as evidence they see
The horsehair wig upon her brow.
Yes, yes! That makes the silliest men
Seem wise; the meanest men look big:
The Majesty of Justice, then,
Is seated in the WIG."
March 1863.
FROM NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL
THE ELECTIONS TO THE HEBDOMADAL
COUNCIL
[In the year 1866, a Letter with the above title was pub-
Hshed in Oxford, addressed by Mr. Goldwin Smith to the
Senior Censor of Christ Church, with the two-fold object
of revealing to the University a vast political misfortune
which it had unwittingly encountered, and of suggesting
a remedy which should at once alleviate the bitterness of
the calamity and secure the sufferers from its recurrence.
The misfortune thus revealed was no less than the fact
that, at a recent election of Members to the Hebdomadal
Council, two Conservatives had been chosen, thus giving
a Conservative majority in the Council; and the remedy
suggested was a sufficiently sweeping one, embracing, as
it did, the following details: —
1. "The exclusion" (from Congregation) ''of the non-
academical elements which form a main part of the
strength of this party domination." These "elements" are
afterwards enumerated as "the parish clergy and the pro-
fessional men of the city, and chaplains who are without
any academical occupation."
2. The abolition of the Hebdomadal Council.
3. The abolition of the legislative functions of Convo-
cation.
These are all the main features of this remarkable
scheme of Reform, unless it be necessary to add —
4. "To preside over a Congregation with full legislative
powers, the Vice-Chancellor ought no doubt to be a man
of real capacity."
But it would be invidious to suppose that there was
any intention of suggesting this as a novelty.
908
NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL 9O9
The following rhythmical version of the Letter develops
its principles to an extent which possibly the writer had
never contemplated.]
" 1
''Now is the winter of our discontent.
"Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky?
Heard ye the dragon-monster's dreadful cry?" —
Excuse this sudden burst of the Heroic;
The present state of things would vex a Stoic!
And just as Sairey Gamp, for pains within,
Administered a modicum of gin,
So does my mind, when vexed and ill at ease,
Console itself with soothing similes,
The "dragon-monster" (pestilential schism!)
I need not tell you is Conservatism.
The "hurtling arrow" (till we find a better)
Is represented by the present Letter.
'Twas, I remember, but the other day.
Dear Senior Censor, that you chanced to say
You thought these party-combinations would
Be found, "though needful, no unmingled good."
Unmingled good? They are unmingled ill! ^
I never took to them, and never will — ^
What am I saying? Heed it not, my friend:
On the next page I mean to recommend
The very dodges that I now condemn
^ Dr. Wynter, President of St. John's, one of the recently elected
Conservative members of Council.
^ "In a letter on a point connected with the late elections to the
Hebdomadal Council you incidentally remarked to me that our com-
binations for these elections, 'though necessary were not an unmixed
good.' They are an unmixed evil."
^ "I never go to a caucus without reluctance: I never write a can-
vassing letter without a feeling of repugnance to my task.'*
910 J VERSE
In the Conservatives! Don't hint to them 1
A word of this! (In confidence. Ahem!) V
Need I rehearse the history of Jowett?
I need not, Senior Censor, for you know it.-"^
That was the Board Hebdomadal, and oh!
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow!
Let each that wears a beard, and each that shaves,
Join in the cry "We never will be slaves!"
"But can the University afford
To be a slave to any kind of board ?
A slave}'' you shuddering ask. "Think you it can, Sir?"
''Not at the present moment^'' is my answer.^
I've thought the matter o'er and o'er again
And given to it all my powers of brain;
I've thought it out, and this is what I make it,
(And I don't care a Tory how you take it:)
// may be right to go ahead, I guess:
It may be right to stop, I do confess;
Also, it may be right to retrogress,^
So says the oracle, and, for myself, I
Must say it beats to fits the one at Delphi!
To save beloved Oxford from the yoke,
(For this majority's beyond a joke).
We must combine,^ aye! hold a caucus-mtctingy
Unless we want to get another beating.
That they should "bottle" us is nothing new —
But shall they bottle us and caucus too ?
* "I need not rehearse the history of the Regius Professor of Greek."
^ "The University cannot afford at the present moment to be de-
Hvered over as a slave to any non-academical interest w^hatever."
^ "It may be right to go on, it may be right to stand still, or it may
be right to go back."
* "To save the University from going completely under the yoke
... we shall still be obliged to combine."
^ "Caucus-holding and wire-pulling would still be almost inevitably
carried on to some extent-" ^
5
NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL 9II
See the "fell unity o£ purpose" now
With which Obstructives plunge into the row! ^
"Factious Minorities," we used to sigh —
"Factious Majorities" is now the cry.
"Votes — ninety-two" — no combination here:
"Votes — ninety-three" — conspiracy, 'tis clear! ^
You urge " 'Tis but a unit." I reply
That in that .unit lurks their "unity."
Our voters often bolt, and often baulk us,
But then, they never, never go to caucus!
Our voters can't forget the maxim famous
"Semel electum semper eligamus" :
They never can be worked into a ferment
By visionary promise of preferment.
Nor taught, by hints of "Paradise" ^ beguiled,
To whisper "C for Chairman" like a child! ^
And thus the friends that we have tempted down
Oft take the two-o'clock Express for town.^
This is our danger: this the secret foe
That aims at Oxford such a deadly blow.
What champion can we find to save the State,
^ "But what are we to do? Here is a great political and theologi-
cal party . . . labouring under perfect discipline and with fell unity
of purpose, to hold the University in subjection, and fill her govern-
ment with its nominees."
At a recent election to Council, the Liberals mustered ninety-two
votes and the Conservatives ninety-three; whereupon the latter were
charged with having obtained their victory by a conspiracy.
Not to mention that, as we cannot promise Paradise to our sup-
porters, they are very apt to take the train for London just before the
election.
It is not known to what the word "Paradise" was intended to
allude, and therefore the hint, here thrown out, that the writer meant
to recall the case of the late Chairman of Mr. Gladstone's committee,,
who had been recently collated to the See of Chester, is wholly wanton
and gratuitous.
A case of this kind had actually occurred on. the occasion of the:
division just alluded to.
912 VERSE
To crush the plot? We darkly whisper "Wait!" ^
My scheme is this: remove the votes o£ all
The residents that are not Liberal — ^
Leave the young Tutors uncontrolled and free,
And Oxford then shall see — what it shall see.
What next ? Why then, I say, let Convocation
Be shorn of all her powers of legislation.^
But why stop there? Let us go boldly on —
Sweep everything beginning with a "Con"
Into oblivion! Convocation first,
Conservatism next, and, last and worst,
''Concilium Hebdomadale' must.
Consumed and conquered, be consigned to dust!^
And here I must relate a little fable
I heard last Saturday at our high table: —
The cats, it seems, were masters of the house.
And held their own against the rat and mouse :
Of course the others couldn't stand it long,
So held a caucus (not, in their case, wrong) ;
And, when they were assembled to a man.
Uprose an aged rat, and thus began: —
"Brothers in bondage! Shall we bear to be
For ever left in a minority?
^ Mr. Wayte, now President of Trinity, then put forward as the
Liberal candidate for election to Council.
^ "You and others suggest, as the only effective remedy, that the
Constituency should be reformed, by the exclusion of the non-academ-
ical elements which form a main part of the strength of this party
domination.**
^ "I confess that, having included all the really academical elements
in Congregation, I would go boldly on, and put an end to the Legisla-
tive functions of Convocation."
* "This conviction, that while we have Elections to Council we shall
not entirely get rid of party organization and its evils, leads me to
venture a step further, and to raise the question whether it is really
necessary that we should have an Elective Council for legislative
purposes at all." ^
NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL 913
With what 'fell unity of purpose' cats
Oppose the trusting innocence of rats!
So unsuspicious are we of disguise.
Their machinations take us by surprise — ^
Insulting and tyrannical absurdities! ^
It is too bad by half — upon my word it is!
For, now that these Con — , cats, I should say (frizzle
'em!).
Are masters, they exterminate like Islam! ^
How shall we deal with them? I'll tell you how: —
Let none but kittens be allowed to miaow!
The Liberal kittens seize us but in play.
And, while they frolic, we can run away;
But older cats are not so generous.
Their claws are too Conservative for us!
Then let them keep the stable and the oats.
While kittens, rats, and mice have all the votes.
"Yes; banish cats! The kittens would not use
Their powers for blind obstruction,^ nor refuse
To let us sip the cream and gnaw the cheese —
How glorious then would be our destinies! ^
Kittens and rats would occupy the throne,
And rule the larder for itself alone!" ^
So rhymed my friend, and asked me what I thought
of it.
* "Sometimes, indeed, not being informed that the wires are at
work, we are completely taken by surprise."
^ "We are without protection against this most insulting and
tyrannical absurdity."
* "It is as exterminating as Islam."
* "Their powers would scarcely be exercised for the purposes of
fanaticism, or in a spirit of blind obstruction."
^ "These narrow local bounds, within which our thoughts and
schemes have hitherto been pent, will begin to disappear, and a far
wider sphere of action will open on the view."
^ "Those councils must be freely opened to all who can serve her
well and who will serve her for herself."
914 VERSE
I told him that so much as I had caught of it
Appeared to me (as I need hardly mention)
Entirely undeserving of attention.
But now, to guide the Congregation, when
It numbers none but really "able" men,
A ''Vice-Cancellarius'' will be needed
Of every kind of human weakness weeded!
Is such the president that we have got?
He ought no doubt to be; why should he not? ^
I do not hint that Liberals should dare
To oust the present holder of the chair —
But surely he would not object to be
Gently examined by a Board of three?
Their duty being just to ascertain
That he's "all there" (I mean, of course, in brain),
And that his mind, from "petty details" clear.
Is fitted for the duties of his sphere.
All this is merely moonshine, till we get
The seal of Parliament upon it set.
A word then, Senior Censor, in your ear:
The Government is in a state of fear —
Like some old gentleman, abroad at night.
Seized with a sudden shiver of affright.
Who offers money, on his bended knees,
To the first skulking vagabond he sees —
Now is the lucky moment for our task;
They daren't refuse us anything we ask! ^
"To preside over a Congregation witli full legislative powers, the
Vice-Chancellor ought no doubt to be a man of real capacity; but w^hy
should he not? His mind ought also, for this as well as for his other
high functions, to be clear of petty details, and devoted to the great
matters of University business; but why should not this condition
also be fulfilled? "
^ "If you apply now to Parliament for this or any other University
reform, you will find the House of Commons in a propitious mood.
. . . Even the Conservative Government, as it looks for the support
NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL 915
And then our Fellowships shall open be
To Intellect, no meaner quality!
No moral excellence, no social fitness
Shall ever be admissible as witness.
"A vaunt, dull Virtue!" is Oxonia's cry:
"Come to my arms, ingenious Villainy!"
For Classic Fellowships, an honour high,
Simonides and Co. will then apply —
Our Mathematics will to Oxford bring
The 'cutest members of the betting-ring —
Law Fellowships will start upon their journeys
A myriad of unscrupulous attorneys —
While prisoners, doomed till now to toil unknown,
Shall mount the Physical Professor's throne!
And thus would Oxford educate, indeed.
Men far beyond a merely local need —
With no career before them, I may say,"*^
Unless they're wise enough to go away,
And seek far West, or in the distant East,
Another flock of pigeons to be fleeced.
I might go on, and trace the destiny
Of Oxford in an age which, though it be
Thus breaking with tradition, owns a new
Allegiance to the intellectual few —
(I mean, of course, the — pshaw! no matter who!)
But, were I to pursue the boundless theme,
I fear that I should seem to you to dream.^
of moderate Liberals on the one great subject, is very unwilling to
present itself in such an aspect that these men may not be able de-
cently to give it their support."
"With open Fellowships, Oxford will soon produce a supply of
men fit for the work of high education far beyond her own local de-
mands, and in fact with no career before them unless a career can be
opened elsewhere."
' "I should seem to you to dream if I were to say what I think the
gi6 VERSE
This to fulfil, or even — humbler far —
To shun Conservatism's noxious star
And all the evils that it brings behind,
These pestilential coils must be untwined —
The party-coils, that clog the march of Mind —
Choked in whose meshes Oxford, slowly wise.
Has lain for three disastrous centuries.^
Away with them! (It is for this I yearn!)
Each twist untwist, each Turner overturn!
Disfranchise each Conservative, and cancel
The votes of Michell, Liddon, Wall, and Mansel!
Then, then shall Oxford be herself again,
Neglect the heart, and cultivate the brain —
Then this shall be the burden of our song,
"All change is good — whatever is, is wrong — "
Then Intellect's proud flag shall be unfurled.
And Brain, and Brain alone, shall rule the world!
destiny of the University may be in an age which, though it is breaking
with tradition, is, from the same causes, owning a new allegiance to
intellectual authority.'*
* "But to fulfil this, or even a far humbler destiny — to escape the
opposite lot — the pestilential coils of party, in which the University
has lain for three disastrous centuries choked, must be untwined."
s.
NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL 917
THE DESERTED PARKS
"Solitudinem faciunt: Parcum appellant."
Museum! loveliest building of the plain
Where Cher well winds towards the distant main;
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared the scene!
How often have I paused on every charm.
The rustic couple walking arm in arm —
The groups of trees, with seats beneath the shade
For prattling babes and whisp'ring lovers made —
The never-failing brawl, the busy mill
Where tiny urchins vied in fistic skill —
(Two phrases only have that dusky race
Caught from the learned influence of the place;
Phrases in their simplicity sublime,
"Scramble a copper!" "Please, Sir, what's the time?"
These round thy walks their cheerful influence shed;
There were thy charms — but all these charms are fled.
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And rude pavilions sadden all thy green;
One selfish pastime grasps the whole domain.
And half a faction swallows up the plain;
Adown thy glades, all sacrificed to cricket.
The hollow-sounding bat now guards the wicket;
Sunk are thy mounds in shapeless level all.
Lest aught impede the swiftly rolling ball;
And trembling, shrinking from the fatal blow,
Far, far away thy hapless children go.
Ill fares the place, to luxury a prey.
Where wealth accumulates, and minds decay;
Athletic sports may flourish or may fade.
Fashion may make them, even as it has made;
9l8 VERSE
But the broad parks, the city's joy and pride,
When once destroyed can never be suppUed!
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the hmits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells go by with laugh of hollow joy,
And shouting Folly hails them with "Ahoy!"
Funds even beyond the miser's wish abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name.
That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supplied;
Space for the game, and all its instruments,
Space for pavilions and for scorers' tents;
The ball, that raps his shins in padding cased,
Has wore the verdure to an arid waste;
His Park, where these exclusive sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the rustic from the green;
While through the plain, consigned to silence all.
In barren splendour flits the russet ball.
In peaceful converse with his brother Don,
Here oft the calm Professor wandered on;
Strange words he used — men drank with wondering ears
The languages called "dead," the tongues of other years.
(Enough of Heber! Let me once again
Attune my verse to Goldsmith's liquid strain.)
A man he was to undergraduates dear.
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
And so, I ween, he would have been till now.
Had not his friends ('twere long to tell you how)
Prevailed on him, Jack-Horner-like, to try
Some method to evaluate his pie,
NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL 919
And win from those dark depths, with skilful thumb.
Five times a hundredweight of luscious plum —
Yet for no thirst of wealth, no love of praise,
In learned labour he consumed his days!
O Luxury! thou cursed by Heaven's decree,
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions, with insidious joy.
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy;
Iced cobbler. Badminton, and shandy-gaff,
Rouse the loud jest and idiotic laugh;
Inspired by them, to tipsy greatness grown.
Men boast a florid vigour not their own;
At every draught more wild and wild they grow;
While pitying friends observe "I told you so!"
Till, summoned to their post, at the first ball,
A feeble under-hand, their wickets fall.
Even now the devastation is begun.
And half the business of destruction done;
Even now, methinks while pondering here in pity,
I see the rural Virtues leave the city.
Contented Toil, and calm scholastic Care,
And frugal Moderation, all are there;
Resolute Industry that scorns the lure
Of careless mirth — that dwells apart secure —
To science gives her days, her midnight oil.
Cheered by the sympathy of others' toil —
Courtly Refinement, and that Taste in dress
That brooks no meanness, yet avoids excess —
All these I see, with slow reluctant pace
Desert the long-beloved and honoured place!
While yet 'tis time, Oxonia, rise and fling
The spoiler from thee: grant no parleying! r
Teach him that eloquence, against the wrong,
Though very poor, may still be very strong;
920 VERSE
That party-interests we must forgo,
When hostile to "pro bono pubUco";
That faction's empire hastens to its end,
When once mankind to common sense attend;
While independent votes may win the day
Even against the potent spell of "Play!"
May 1867.
EXAMINATION STATUTE
["The Statute proposed to allow candidates for a degree to
forsake Classics after Moderations, except so far as was need-
ed for a Fourth Class in the Final School of Literae Humani-
ores, if they wished to graduate in science. This Dodgson
considered degrading both to Classics and to Mathematics."
— Dodgson Handbool^,\
A list of those who might, could, would, or should have
voted thereon in Congregation, February 2, 4681, ar-
ranged alphabetically.
A is for [Acland], who'd physic the Masses,
B is for [Brodie], who swears by the gases.
C is for [Conington], constant to Horace.
D is for [Donkin], who integrates for us.
E is for [Evans], with rifle well steadied.
F is for [Freeman], Examiner dreaded!
G's [Goldwin Smith], by the "Saturday" quoted.
H is for [Heurtley], to "Margaret" devoted.
I am the Author, a rhymer erratic —
J is for [Jowett], who lectures in Attic:
K is for [Kitchen], than attic much warmer.
L is for [Liddell], relentless reformer!
M is for [Mansel], our Logic-provider,
NOTES BY AN OXFORD CHIEL 92I
And [Norris] is N, once a famous rough-rider.
[OgilvieJ's O, Orthodoxy's Mendoza!
And [Parker] is P, the amendment-proposer.
Q is the Quad, where the Dons are collecting.
R is for [Rolleston], who lives for dissecting:
S is for [Stanley], sworn foe to formality.
T's [Travers Twiss], full of civil legality.
U's University, factiously splitting —
V's the Vice-Chancellor, ceaselessly sitting.
W's [Wall], by Museum made frantic,
X the Xpenditure, grown quite gigantic.
Y are the Young men, whom nobody thought about —
Z is the Zeal that this victory brought about.
ACROSTICS, INSCRIPTIONS,
AND OTHER VERSES
ACROSTIC
Little maidens, when you look
On this little story-book,
Reading with attentive eye
Its enticing history,
Never think that hours of play
Are your only HOLIDAY,
And that in a HOUSE of joy
Lessons serve but to annoy :
If in any HOUSE you find
Children of a gentle mind.
Each the others pleasing ever —
Each the others vexing never —
Daily work and pastime daily
In their order taking gaily —
Then be very sure that they
Have a life of HOLIDAY.
Christmas 1861.
9^2
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 923
TO THREE PUZZLED LITTLE GIRLS,
FROM THE AUTHOR
(To the three Misses Drury.)
Three little maidens weary of the rail.
Three pairs of little ears listening to a tale.
Three little hands held out in readiness.
For three little puzzles very hard to guess.
Three pairs of little eyes, open wonder-wide,
At three little scissors lying side by side.
Three little mouths that thanked an unknown Friend,
For one little book, he undertook to send.
Though whether they'll remember a friend, or book, or
day —
In three little weeks is very hard to say.
August 1869.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC
{To Miss E. M. Argles.)
I SING a place wherein agree
All things on land that fairest be,
All that is sweetest of the sea.
Nor can I break the silken knot
That binds my memory to the spot
And friends too dear to be forgot.
• • • . •
On rocky brow we loved to stand
And watch in silence, hand in hand.
924 VERSE
The shadows veiUng sea and land. B
Then dropped the breeze ; no vessel passed :
So silent stood each taper mast,
You would have deemed it chained and
fast. A
luf
ncho R
B roccol I
B
arqu
Above the blue and fleecy sky:
Below, the waves that quivering lie,
Like crisped curls of greenery.
"A sail!" resounds from every lip.
Mizen, no, square-sail — ah, you trip!
Edith, it cannot be a ship!
So home again from sea and beach,
One nameless feeling thrilling each.
A sense of beauty, passing speech.
Let lens and tripod be unslung!
*'Dolly!" 's the word on every tongue;
Dolly must sit, for she is young!
Photography shall change her face,
Distort it with uncouth grimace —
Make her bloodthirsty, fierce, and base. O diou
I end my song while scarce begun;
For I should want, ere all was done,
Four weeks to tell the tale of one :
A ppreciatio N
hil D
M
ont
H
And I should need as large a hand.
To paint a scene so wild and grand.
As he who traversed Egypt's land.
What say you, Edith? Will it suit ye?
Reject it, if it fails in beauty:
You know your literary duty!
B elzon I
E ditorshi P
s
On the rail between Torquay and Guildford, Sep. 28, 1869.
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 925
THREE LITTLE MAIDS
{To the three Misses Drury,)
Three little maids, one winter day,
While others went to feed,
To sing, to laugh, to dance, to play.
More wisely went to — Reed.
Others, when lesson-time's begun,
' Go, half inclined to cry,
Some in a walk, some in a run;
But these went in a — Fly.
I give to other little maids
A smile, a kiss, a look.
Presents whose memory quickly fades;
I give to these — a Book.
Happy Arcadia may blind,
While all abroad^ their eyes;
At home, this book (I trust) they'll find
A very catching prize.
PUZZLE
(To Mary, Ina, and Harriet or "Hartie'' Watson,)
When . a . y and I . a told . a . . ie they'd seen a
Small . . ea . u . e with . i . . . , dressed in crimson and
blue,
. a . . ie cried " 'Twas a . ai . y! Why, I . a and . a .y,
I should have been happy if I had been you!"
Said • a . y "You wouldn't." Said I . a "You shouldn't—
9^6 vEBjS.£
Since you can't be uSy and we couldn't be you.
You are one, my dear . a . . ie, but ^d* are a . a . . y,
And a . i . . . e . i . tells us that one isn't twoT
THREE CHILDREN
{To Miss Mary Watson,)
Three children (their names were so fearful
You'll excuse me for leaving them out)
Sat silent, with faces all tearful —
What was it about?
They were sewing, but needles are prickly,
And fingers were cold as could be —
So they didn't get on very quickly.
And they wept, silly Three!
"O Mother!" said they, "Guildford's not a
Nice place for the winter, that's flat.
If you know any country that's hotter.
Please take us to that!"
'''Cease crying," said she, "little daughter!
And when summer comes back with the flowers,
You shall roam by the edge of the water.
In sunshiny hours."
"And in summer," said sorrowful Mary,
"We shall hear the shrill scream of the train
That will bring that dear writer of fairy-
tales hither again."
(Now the person shesmeant to allude to
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 927
Was — well! it is best to forget.
It was some one she always was rude to.
Whenever they met.)
''It's my duty," their Mother continued,
"To fill with things useful and right
Your small minds : if I put nothing in, you'd
Be ignorant quite.
"But enough now of lessons and thinking:
Your meal is quite ready, I see —
So attend to your eating and drinking,
You thirsty young Three!"
Apr. 10, 1871.
TWO THIEVES
(To the Misses Drury.)
Two thieves went out to steal one day
Thinking that no one knew it:
Three little maids, I grieve to say,
Encouraged them to do it.
'Tis sad that little children should
Encourage men in stealing!
But these, I've always understood.
Have got no proper feeling.
An aged friend, who chanced to pass
Exactly at the minute.
Said "Children! Take this Looking-glass,
And see your badness in it."
Jan, II, 1872.
928 VERSE
TWO ACROSTICS
{To Miss Ruth Dymes.)
Round the wondrous globe I wander wild,
Up and down-hill — Age succeeds to youth-
Toiling all in vain to find a child
Half so loving, half so dear as Ruth.
(To Miss Margaret Dymes,)
Maidens, if a maid you meet
Always free from pout and pet,
Ready smile and temper sweet.
Greet my little Margaret.
And if loved by all she be
Rightly, not a pampered pet,
Easily you then may see
'Tis my little Margaret.
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 929
DOUBLE ACROSTIC
Two little girls near London dwell,
More naughty than I like to tell.
Upon the lawn the hoops are seen :
The balls are rolling on the green. T ur F
The Thames is running deep and wide:
And boats are rowing on the tide. R ive R
3
In winter-time, all in a row,
The happy skaters come and go. I c E
"Papa!" they cry, "Do let us stay!"
He does not speak, but says they may. N o D
"There is a land," he says, "my dear,
Which is too hot to skate, I fear." A fric A
930 VERSE
ACROSTIC
"Are you deaf, Father William?" the young man said,
"Did you hear what I told you just now?
"Excuse me for shouting! Don't waggle your head
"Like a blundering, sleepy old cow!
"A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town,
"Is my friend, so I beg to remark:
"Do you think she'd be pleased if a book were sent down
"Entitled The Hunt of the Snark?' "
"Pack it up in brown paper!" the old man cried,
"And seal it with olive-and-dove.
"I command you to do it!" he added with pride,
"Nor forget, my good fellow, to send her beside
'Easter Greetings, and give her my love."
1876.
ACROSTIC
(To the Misses Drury,)
"Maidens! if you love the tale,
If you love the Snark,
Need I urge you, spread the sail.
Now, while freshly blows the gale,
In your ocean-barque!
"English Maidens love renown.
Enterprise, and fuss!"
Laughingly those Maidens frown;
Laughingly, with eyes cast down;
And they answer thus:
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 93I
"English Maidens fear to roam.
Much we dread the dark;
Much we dread what ills might come,
I£ we left our English home^,
Even for a Snark!"
Apr. 6, 1876.
ACROSTIC
LovE-lighted eyes, that will not start
At frown of rage or malice!
Uplifted brow, undaunted heart
Ready to dine on raspberry-tart
Along with fairy Alice!
In scenes as wonderful as if
She'd flitted in a magic skiff
Across the sea to Calais :
Be sure this night, in Fancy's feast,
Even till Morning gilds the east,
Laura will dream of Alice!
Perchance, as long years onward haste,
Laura will weary of the taste
Of Life's embittered chalice:
May she, in such a woeful hour.
Endued with Memory's mystic power.
Recall the dreams of Alice!
June 17, 1876.
932 VERSE
TO M. A. B.
(To Miss Marion Terry, ''Mary Ann Bessie Terry,")
The royal MAB, dethroned, discrowned
By fairy rebels wild.
Has found a home on English ground,
And lives an English child.
I know it, Maiden, when I see
A fairy-tale upon your knee —
And note the page that idly lingers
Beneath those still and listless fingers —
And mark those dreamy looks that stray
To some bright vision far away.
Still seeking, in the pictured story,
The memory of a vanished glory.
ACROSTIC
{To Miss Marion Terry,)
Maiden, though thy heart may quail
And thy quivering lip grow pale,
Read the Bellman's tragic tale!
Is it life of which it tells ?
Of a pulse that sinks and swells
Never lacking chime of bells ?
Bells of sorrow, bells of cheer,
Easter, Christmas, glad New Year,
Still they sourid, afar, anear.
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 933
So may Life's sweet bells for thee,
In the summers yet to be,
Evermore make melody!
Aug. 15, 1876.
MADRIGAL
ft
(To Miss May ForshalL)
He shouts amain, he shouts again,
(Her brother, fierce, as bluflE King Hal),
"I tell you flat, I shall do that!"
She softly whispers " 'May for 'shalVr
He wistful sighed one eventide
(Her friend, that made this Madrigal),
"And shall I kiss you, pretty Miss!"
Smiling she answered " 'May for 'sJiallT
With eager eyes my reader cries,
"Your friend must be indeed a val-
-uable child, so sweet, so mild!
What do you call her?" "May For shall."
Dec, 24, 1877.
LOVE AMONG THE ROSES
ACROSTIC
"Seek ye Love, ye fairy-sprites?
Ask where reddest roses grow.
Rosy fancies he invites,
And in roses he delights.
Have ye found him?" "No!"
934 VERSE
"Seek again, and find the boy
In Childhood's heart, so pure and clear."
Now the fairies leap for joy,
Crying, "Love is here!"
"Love has found his proper nest;
And we guard him while he dozes
In a dream of peace and rest
Rosier than roses."
Jan, 3, 1878.
TWO POEMS TO RACHEL DANIEL
I
"Oh pudgy podgy pup!
Why did they wake you up ?
Those crude nocturnal yells
Are not like silver bells:
Nor ever would recall
Sweet Music's 'dying fall.'
They rather bring to mind
The bitter winter wind
Through keyholes shrieking shrilly
When nights are dark and chilly :
Or like some dire duett,
Or quarrelsome quartette,
Of cats who chant their joys
With execrable noise.
And murder Time and Tune
To vex the patient Moon!"
Nov. 1880.
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 935
II
FOR "the GARLAND OF RACHEL" (1881)
What hand may wreathe thy natal crown,
O tiny tender Spirit-blossom,
That out of Heaven hast fluttered down
Into this Earth's cold bosom?
And how shall mortal bard aspire —
All sin-begrimed and sorrow-laden —
To welcome, with the Seraph-choir,
A pure and perfect Maiden?
Are not God's minstrels ever near.
Flooding with joy the woodland mazes?
Which shall we summon. Baby dear.
To carol forth thy praises?
With sweet sad song the Nightingale
May soothe the broken hearts that languish
Where graves are green — the orphans' wail,
The widow's lonely anguish:
The Turtle-dove with amorous coo
May chide the blushing maid that lingers
To twine her bridal wreath anew
With weak and trembling fingers :
But human loves and human woes
Would dim the radiance of thy glory — -,
Only the Lark such music knows
As fits thy stainless story.
936 VERSE
The world may listen as it will —
She recks not, to the skies up-springing:
Beyond our ken she singeth still
For very joy of singing.
THE LYCEUM
"It is the lawyer's daughter,
And she is grown so dear, so dear,
She costs me, in one evening.
The income of a year!
*You can't have children's love,' she cried,
'Unless you choose to fee 'em!'
'And what's your fee, child?' I replied. .
She simply said —
"We saw 'The Cup.' " I hoped she'd say,
"I'm grateful to you, very."
She murmured, as she turned away,
"That lovely [Ellen Terry.]
"Compared with her, the rest," she cried,
"Are just like two or three um-
"berellas standing side by side!
"Oh, gem of —
"We saw Two Brothers. I confess
To me they seemed one man.
"Now which is which, child? Can you guess?"
She cried, "A-course I can!"
Bad puns like this I always dread.
And am resolved to flee 'em.
And so I left her there, and fled;
She lives at —
1881.
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 937
ACROSTIC
Around my lonely hearth to-night,
Ghostlike the shadows wander:
Now here, now there, a childish sprite,
Earthborn and yet as angel bright.
Seems near me as I ponder.
Gaily she shouts: the laughing air
Echoes her note of gladness —
Or bends herself with earnest care
Round fairy-fortress to prepare
Grim battlement or turret-stair —
In childhood's merry madness!
New raptures still hath youth in store.
Age may but fondly cherish
Half-faded memories of yore —
Up, craven heart! repine no more!
Love stretches hands from shore to shore:
Love is, and shall not perish!
DREAMLAND
(Verses written to the dream-music written down by C. E,
Hutchinson, of Brasenose College.)
When midnight mists are creeping,
And all the land is sleeping,
Around me tread the mighty dead,
And slowly pass away.
Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,
From out the vanished ages.
938 VERSE
With solemn pace and reverend face
Appear and pass away.
The blaze of noonday splendour.
The twilight soft and tender,
May charm the eye: yet they shall die,
Shall die and pass away.
But here, in Dreamland's centre.
No spoiler's hand may enter.
These visions fair, this radiance rare,
Shall never pass away.
I see the shadows falling.
The forms of old recalling;
Around me tread the mighty dead.
And slowly pass away.
1882.
TO MY CHILD-FRIEND
DEDICATION TO "tHE GAME OF LOGlc"
I CHARM in vain : for never again.
All keenly as my glance I bend,
Will Memory, goddess coy,
Embody for my joy
Departed days, nor let me gaze
On thee, my Fairy Friend!
Yet could thy face, in mystic grace,
A moment smile on me, 'twould send
Far-darting rays of light
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 939
From Heaven athwart the night,
By which to read in very deed
Thy spirit, sweetest Friend!
So may the stream of Life's long dream
Flow gently onward to its end,
With many a floweret gay,
A-down its willowy way:
May no sigh vex, no care perplex,
My loving little Friend!
1886.
A RIDDLE
{To Miss Gay nor Simpson,)
My first lends his aid when I plunge into trade:
My second in jollifications:
My whole, laid on thinnish, imparts a neat finish
To pictorial representations.
Answer, Copal.
A LIMERICK
(To Miss Vera Beringer,)
There was a young lady of station,
"I love man" was her sole exclamation;
But when men cried, "You flatter,"
She replied, "Oh! no matter.
Isle of Man is the true explanation."
940 VERSE
RHYME? AND REASON?
(To Miss Emmie Drury.)
I'm EMInent in RHYME!" she said.
"I make WRY Mouths of RYE-Meal gruel!"
The Poet smiled, and shook his head:
"Is REASON, then, the missing jewel?"
«T>
A NURSERY DARLING
DEDICATION TO THE NURSERY " ALICE," 1 889
A Mother's breast:
Safe refuge from her childish fears,
From childish troubles, childish tears.
Mists that enshroud her dawning years!
See how in sleep she seems to sing
A voiceless psalm — an offering
Raised, to the glory of her King,
In Love: for Love is Rest.
A Darlings kiss:
Dearest of all the signs that fleet
From lips that lovingly repeat
Again, again, their message sweet!
Full to the brim with girlish glee,
A child, a very child is she.
Whose dream of Heaven is still to be
At Home: for Home is Bliss.
X
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 94I
MAGGIE'S VISIT TO OXFORD
(June 9th to 13th, 1889)
{Written for Maggie Boti/man.)
When Maggie once to Oxford came,
On tour as "Booties Baby,"
She said, "I'll see this place of fame,
However dull the day be."
So with her friend she visited
The sights that it was rich in :
And first of all she popped her head
Inside the Christ Church kitchen.
The Cooks around that little child
Stood waiting in a ring:
And every time that Maggie smiled
Those Cooks began to sing —
Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!
"Roast, boil and bake,
For Maggie's sake:
Bring cutlets fine
For her to dine,
Meringues so sweet
For her to eat —
For Maggie may be
Booties' Baby!"
Then hand in hand in pleasant talk
They wandered and admired
The Hall, Cathedral and Broad Walk,
Till Maggie's feet were tired:
942 VERSE
To Worcester Garden next they strolled.
Admired its quiet lake:
Then to St. John, a college old,
Their devious way they take.
In idle mood they sauntered round
Its lawn so green and flat,
And in that garden Maggie found
A lovely Pussy-Cat!
A quarter of an hour they spent
In wandering to and fro:
And everywhere that Maggie went,
The Cat was sure to go —
Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!
! • f ' ''
"Maiow! Maiow!
Come, make your bow,
Take off your hats.
Ye Pussy-Cats!
And purr and purr.
To welcome her,
For Maggie may be
Booties' Baby!"
So back to Christ Church, not too late
For them to go and see
A Christ Church undergraduate,
Who gave them cakes and tea.
Next day she entered with her guide
The garden called "Botanic,"
And there a fierce Wild Boar she spied,
Enough to cause a panic:
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 943,
But Maggie didn't mind, not she,
She would have faced, alone,
That fierce wild boar, because, you see,
The thing was made of stone.
On Magdalen walls they saw a face
That filled her with delight,
A giant face, that made grimace
And grinned with all its might.
A little friend, industrious.
Pulled upwards all the while
The corner of its mouth, and thus;
He helped that face to smile!
"How nice," thought Maggie, "it would be
If / could have a friend
To do that very thing for me
And make my mouth turn up with glee,.
By pulling at one end."
In Magdalen Park the deer are wild
With joy, that Maggie brings
Some bread a friend had given the child,,
To feed the pretty things.
They flock round Maggie without fear :
They breakfast and they lunch.
They dine, they sup, those happy deer —
Still, as they munch and munch,
Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom L
"Yes, Deer are we^
And dear is she!
We love this child
So sweet and mild :
944 VERSE
We all rejoice
At Maggie's voice :
We all are fed
With Maggie's bread . . .
For Maggie may be
Booties' Baby!"
They met a Bishop on their way . . .
A Bishop large as life,
With loving smile that seemed to say
"Will Maggie be my wife?"
Maggie thought not^ because, you see,
She was so very young,
And he was old as old could be . . .
So Maggie held her tongue.
"My Lord, she's Booties' Baby, we
Are going up and down,"
Her friend explained, "that she may see
The sights of Oxford Town."
"Now say what kind of place it is,"
The Bishop gaily cried.
"The best place in the Provinces!"
That little maid replied.
Away, next morning, Maggie went
From Oxford town : but yet
The happy hours she there had spent
She could not soon forget.
The train is gone, it rumbles on :
The engine- whistle screams;
ACROSTICS AND OTHER VERSES 945
But Maggie deep in rosy sleep . . .
And softly in her dreams.
Whispers the Battle-cry of Freedom.
"Oxford, good-bye!"
She seems to sigh.
"You dear old City,
With gardens pretty,
And lanes and flowers,
And college-towers.
And Tom's great Bell . » . ]
Farewell — farewell :
For Maggie may be
Booties' Baby!"
MAGGIE B
(To Maggie Bowman)
Written by Maggie B-
Bought by me:
A present to Maggie B-
Sent by me:
But u/ho can Maggie be?
Answered by me:
"She is she."
Aug, 13, 1891.
THREE SUNSETS
AND OTHER POEMS
THREE SUNSETS
He saw her once, and in the glance,
A moment's glance of meeting eyes,
His heart stood still in sudden trance:
He trembled with a sweet surprise —
AH in the waning light she stood.
The star of perfect womanhood.
That summer-eve his heart was light:
With lighter step he trod the ground:
And life was fairer in his sight,
And music was in every sound:
He blessed the world where there could be
So beautiful a thing as she.
There once again, as evening fell
And stars were peering overhead.
Two lovers met to bid farewell:
The western sun gleamed faint and red,
Lost in a drift of purple cloud
That wrapped him like a funeral-shroud.
Long time the memory of that night —
The hand that clasped, the lips that kissed.
The form that faded from his sight
Slow sinking through the tearful mist —
In dreamy music seemed to roll
Through the dark chambers of his soul.
946
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 947
So after many years he came
A wanderer from a distant shore:
The street, the house, were still the same,
But those he sought were there no more :
His burning words, his hopes and fears,
Unheeded fell on alien ears.
Only the children from their play
Would pause the mournful tale to hear,
Shrinking in half -alarm away.
Or, step by step, would venture near
To touch with timid curious hands
That strange wild man from other lands.
He sat beside the busy street,
There, where he last had seen her face;
And thronging memories, bitter-sweet.
Seemed yet to haunt the ancient place:
Her footfall ever floated near:
Her voice was ever in his ear.
He sometimes, as the daylight waned
And evening mists began to roll,.
In half -soliloquy complained
Of that black shadow on his soul,.
And blindly fanned, with cruel care^
The ashes of a vain despair.
The summer fled : the lonelv man
Still lingered out the lessening days :
Still, as the night drew on, would scan
Each passing face with closer gaze —
Till, sick at heart, he turned away.
And sighed "She will not come to-day."
94^ VERSE
So by degrees his spirit bent
To mock its own despairing cry,
In stern self-torture to invent
New luxuries of agony.
And people all the vacant space
With visions of her perfect face.
Then for a moment she was nigh,
He heard no step, but she was there;
As if an angel suddenly
Were bodied from the viewless air.
And all her fine ethereal frame
Should fade as swiftly as it came.
So, half in fancy's sunny trance,
And half in misery's aching void.
With set and stony countenance
His bitter being he enjoyed.
And thrust for ever from his mind
The happiness he could not find.
As when the wretch, in lonely room.
To selfish death is madly hurled.
The glamour of that fatal fume
Shuts out the wholesome living world-
So all his manhood's strength and pride
One sickly dream had swept aside.
Yea, brother, and we passed him there.
But yesterday, in merry mood.
And marvelled at the lordly air
That shamed his beggar's attitude,
Nor heeded that ourselves might be
Wretches as desperate as he;
Who let the thought of bliss denied
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 949
Make havoc of our life and powers.
And pine, in solitary pride,
For peace that never shall be ours.
Because we will not work and wait
In trustful patience for our fate.
And so it chanced once more that she
Came by the old familiar spot:
The face he would have died to see
Bent o'er him, and he knew it not;
Too rapt in selfish grief to hear.
Even when happiness was near.
And pity filled her gentle breast
For him that would not stir nor speak,
The dying crimson of the west.
That faintly tinged his haggard cheek.
Fell on her as she stood, and shed
A glory round the patient head.
Ah, let him wake! The moments fly:
This awful tryst may be the last.
And see, the tear, that dimmed her eye.
Had fallen on him ere she passed —
She passed : the crimson paled to gray :
And hope departed with the day.
The heavy hours of night went by.
And silence quickened into sound.
And light slid up the eastern sky.
And life began its daily round —
But light and life for him were fled :
His name was numbered with the dead.
Nov, 1861.
950 VERSE
THE PATH OF ROSES
{Florence Nightingale was at the height of her fame
when this was written, after the Crimean War.)
In the dark silence o£ an ancient room, 19
Whose one tall window fronted to the West,
Where, through laced tendrils o£ a hanging vine,
The sunset-glow was fading into night,
Sat a pale Lady, resting weary hands
Upon a great clasped volume, and her face
Within her hands. Not as in rest she bowed.
But large hot tears were coursing down her cheek,
And her low-panted sobs broke awefully
Upon the sleeping echoes of the night.
Soon she unclasp'd the volume once again,
And read the words in tone of agony.
As in self-torture, weeping as she read : —
''He crowns the glory of his race:
He prayeth but in some fit place
To meet his foeman face to face:
''And, battling for the True, the Right,
From ruddy dawn to purple night,
To perish in the midmost fight:
''Where hearts are fierce and hands are strong,
Where peals the bugle loud and long.
Where blood is dropping in the throng:
"Still, with a dim and glazing eye,
To watch the tide of victory.
To hear in death the battle-cry:
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 95I
''Then, gathered grandly to his grave,
To rest among the true and brave,
In holy ground, where yew-trees wave:
** Where, from church-windows sculptured fair.
Float out upon the evening air
The note of praise, the voice of prayer:
''Where no vain marble moc\ery
Insults with loud and boastful lie
The simple soldier's memory:
"Where sometimes little children go,
And read, in whisper d accent slow.
The name of him who sleeps below!'
Her voice died out : like one in dreams she sat.
"Alas!" she sighed. "For what can Woman do.^
Her life is aimless, and her death unknown :
Hemmed in by social forms she pines in vain.
Man has his work, but what can Woman do?"
And answer came there from the creeping gloom^
The creeping gloom that settled into night:
"Peace! For thy lot is other than a man's:
His is a path of thorns : he beats them down :
He faces death : he wrestles with despair.
Thine is of roses, to adorn and cheer
His lonely life, and hide the thorns in flowers."
She spake again : in bitter tone she spake :
"Aye, as a toy, the puppet of an hour,
Or a fair posy, newly plucked at morn.
But flung aside and withered ere the night."
And answer came there from the creeping gloom,,
The creeping gloom that blackened into night :
"So shalt thou be the lamp to light his path.
What time the shades of sorrow close around."
952 VERSE
And, so it seemed to her, an awtul light
Pierced slowly through the darkness, orbed, and grew,
Until all passed away — the ancient room —
The sunlight dying through the trellised vine —
The one tall window — all had passed away.
And she was standing on the mighty hills.
Beneath, around, and far as eye could see.
Squadron on squadron, stretched opposing hosts,
Ranked as for battle, mute and motionless.
Anon a distant thunder shook the ground.
The tramp of horses, and a troop shot by —
Plunged headlong in that living sea of men —
Plunged to their death : back from that fatal field
A scattered handful, fighting hard for life.
Broke through the serried lines; but, as she gazed,
They shrank and melted, and their forms grew thin —
Grew pale as ghosts when the first morning ray
Dawns from the East — the trumpet's brazen blare
Died into silence — and the vision passed —
Passed to a room where sick and dying lay
In long, sad line — there brooded Fear and Pain —
Darkness was there, the shade of Azrael's wing.
But there was one that ever, to and fro.
Moved with light footfall : purely calm her face.
And those deep steadfast eyes that starred the gloom :
Still, as she went, she ministered to each
Comfort and counsel; cooled the fevered brow
With softest touch, and in the listening ear
Of the pale sufferer whispered words of peace.
That dying warrior, gazing as she passed.
Clasped his thin hands and blessed her. Bless her too,
Thou, who didst bless the merciful of old!
So prayed the Lady, watching tearfully
Her gentle moving onward, till the night
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 953
Had veiled her wholly, and the vision passed.
Then once again the solemn whisper came:
"So in the darkest path of man's despair,
Where War and Terror shake the troubled earth,
Lies woman's mission ; with unblenching brow
To pass through scenes o£ horror and aflfright
Where men grow sick and tremble : unto her
All things are sanctified, for all are good.
Nothing so mean, but shall deserve her care :
Nothing so great, but she may bear her part.
No life is vain : each hath his place assigned :
Do thou thy task, and leave the rest to God."
And there was silence, but the Lady made
No answer, save one deeply-breathed "Amen."
And she arose, and in that darkening room
Stood lonely as a spirit of the night —
Stood calm and fearless in the gathered night —
And raised her eyes to heaven. There were tears
Upon her face, but in her heart was peace,
Peace that the world nor gives nor takes away!
April 10, 1856.
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH
Hark, said the dying man^ and sighed^
To that complaining tone —
Like sprite condemned, each eventide.
To walk the world alone.
At sunset, when the air is still,
I hear it creep from yonder hill :
It breathes upon me, dead and chill,
A moment, and is gone.
954 VERSE
My son, it minds me of a day
Left half a life behind,
That I have prayed to put away
For ever from my mind.
But bitter memory will not die :
It haunts my soul when none is nigh:
I hear its whisper in the sigh
Of that complaining wind.
And now in death my soul is fain
To tell the tale of fear
That hidden in my breast hath lain
Through many a weary year:
Yet time would fail to utter all —
The evil spells that held me thrall,
And thrust my life from fall to fall,
Thou needest not to hear.
The spells that bound me with a chain,
Sin's stern behests to do,
Till Pleasure's self, invoked in vain,
A heavy burden grew —
Till from my spirit's fevered eye,
A hunted thing, I seemed to fly
Through the dark woods that underlie
Yon mountain-range of blue.
Deep in those woods I found a vale
No sunlight visiteth,
Nor star, nor wandering moonbeam pale;
Where never comes the breath
Of summer-breeze — there in mine ear.
Even as I lingered half in fear,
I heard a whisper, cold and clear.
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 955
"That is the gate of Death.
"O bitter is it to abide
In weariness alway:
At dawn to sigh for eventide,
At eventide for day.
Thy noon hath fled : thy sun hath shone :
The brightness of thy day is gone :
What need to lag and hnger on
Till life be cold and gray?
"O well," it said, "beneath yon pool,
In some still cavern deep.
The fevered brain might slumber cool.
The eyes forget to weep :
Within that goblet's mystic rim
Are draughts of healing, stored for him
Whose heart is sick, whose sight is dim.
Who prayeth but to sleep!"
The evening-breeze went moaning by.
Like mourner for the dead.
And stirred, with shrill complaining sigh,
The tree-tops overhead:
My guardian-angel seemed to stand
And mutely wave a warning hand —
With sudden terror all unmanned,
I turned myself and fled!
A cottage-gate stood open wide:
Soft fell the dying ray
On two fair children, side by side.
That rested from their play —
Together bent the earnest head.
956 VERSE
As ever and anon they read
From one dear Book : the words they said
Come back to me to-day.
Like twin cascades on mountain-stair
Together wandered down
The ripples of the golden hair.
The ripples of the brown :
While, through the tangled silken haze,
Blue eyes looked forth in eager gaze,
More starlike than the gems that blaze
About a monarch's crown.
My son, there comes to each an hour
When sinks the spirit's pride —
When weary hands forget their power
The strokes of death to guide:
In such a moment, warriors say,
A word the panic-rout may stay,
A sudden charge redeem the day
And turn the living tide.
I could not see, for blinding tears,
The glories of the west:
A heavenly music filled mine ears,
A heavenly peace my breast.
"Come unto Me, come unto Me —
All ye that labour, unto Me —
Ye heavy-laden, come to Me —
And I will give you rest."
The night drew onwards: thin and blue
The evening mists arise
To bathe the thirsty land in dew.
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 957
As erst in Paradise —
While, over silent field and town.
The deep blue vault of heaven looked down;
Not, as of old, in angry frown,
But bright with angels' eyes.
Blest day! Then first I heard the voice
That since hath oft beguiled
These eyes from tears, and bid rejoice
This heart with anguish wild —
Thy mother, boy, thou hast not known ;
So soon she left me here to moan —
Left me to weep and watch, alone.
Our one beloved child.
Though, parted from my aching sight,
Like homeward-speeding dove.
She passed into the perfect light
That floods the world above;
Yet our twin spirits, well I know —
Though one abide in pain below —
Love, as in summers long ago.
And evermore shall love.
So with a glad and patient heart
I move toward mine end:
The streams, that flow awhile apart,
Shall both in ocean blend.
I dare not weep : I can but bless
The Love that pitied my distress.
And lent me, in Life's wilderness.
So sweet and true a friend.
But if there be — O if there be
958 VERSE
A truth in what they say,
That angel-forms we cannot see
Go with us on our way;
Then surely she is with me here,
I dimly feel her spirit near —
The morning-mists grow thin and clear,
And Death brings in the Day.
April 1868.
SOLITUDE
I LOVE the stillness of the wood :
I love the music of the rill :
I love to couch in pensive mood
Upon some silent hill.
Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees.
The silver-crested ripples pass;
And, like a mimic brook, the breeze
Whispers among the grass.
Here from the world I win release.
Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,
Break in to mar the holy peace
Of this great solitude.
Here may the silent tears I weep
Lull the vexed spirit into rest.
As infants sob themselves to sleep
Upon a mother's breast.
But when the bitter hour is gone.
And the keen throbbing pangs are still.
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 959
Oh, sweetest then to couch alone
Upon some silent hill!
To live in joys that once have been.
To put the cold w^orld out o£ sight,
And deck life's drear and barren scene
With hues of rainbows-light.
For what to man the gift of breath,
If sorrow be his lot below;
If all the day that ends in death
Be dark with clouds of woe?
Shall the poor transport of an hour
Repay long years of sore distress —
The fragrance of a lonely flower
Make glad the wilderness?
Ye golden hours of Life's young spring,
Of innocence, of love and truth!
Bright, beyond all imagining.
Thou fairy-dream of youth!
I'd give all wealth that years have piled.
The slow result of Life's decay.
To be once more a little child i
For one bright summer-day.
March 16, 1853.
960 VERSE
BEATRICE
In her eyes is the Uving hght
Of a wanderer to earth
From a far celestial height:
Summers five are all the span —
Summers five since Time began
To veil in mists of human night
A shining angel-birth.
Does an angel look from her eyes?
Will she suddenly spring away,
And soar to her home in the skies?
Beatrice! Blessing and blessed to be!
Beatrice! Still, as I gaze on thee,
Visions of two sweet maids arise,
Whose life was of yesterday :
Of a Beatrice pale and stern,
With the lips of a dumb despair.
With the innocent eyes that yearn —
Yearn for the young sweet hours of life,
Far from sorrow and far from strife.
For the happy summers, that never return.
When the world seemed good and fair :
Of a Beatrice glorious, bright —
Of a sainted, ethereal maid.
Whose blue eyes are deep fountains of light.
Cheering the poet that broodeth apart,
Filling with gladness his desolate heart.
Like the moon when she shines thro' a cloudless
night
On a world of silence and shade.
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 961
And the visions waver and faint.
And the visions vanish away
That my fancy deUghted to paint —
She is here at my side, a Hving child,
With the glowing cheek and the tresses wild,
Nor death-pale martyr, nor radiant saint.
Yet stainless and bright as they.
For I think, if a grim wild beast
Were to come from his charnel-cave.
From his jungle-home in the East —
Stealthily creeping w^ith bated breath.
Stealthily creeping with eyes of death —
He would all forget his dream of the feast,
And crouch at her feet a slave.
She would twine her hand in his mane:
She would prattle in silvery tone.
Like the tinkle of summer-rain —
Questioning him with her laughing eyes.
Questioning him with a glad surprise.
Till she caught from those fierce eyes again
The love that lit her own.
And be sure, if a savage heart.
In a mask of human guise.
Were to come on her here apart —
Bound for a dark and a deadly deed.
Hurrying past with pitiless speed —
He would suddenly falter and guiltily start
At the glance of her pure blue eyes.
Nay, be sure, if an angel fair,
A bright seraph undefiled,
962 VERSE
Were to stoop from the trackless air,
Fain would she linger in glad amaze —
Lovingly linger to ponder and gaze,
With a sister's love and a sister's care,
On the happy, innocent child.
Dec. 4, 1862.
STOLEN WATERS
The light was faint, and soft the air
That breathed around the place;
And she was lithe, and tall, and fair,
And with a wayward grace
Her queenly head she bare.
With glowing cheek, with gleaming eye.
She met me on the way:
My spirit owned the witchery
Within her smile that lay:
I followed her, I know not why.
The trees were thick with many a fruit.
The grass with many a flower:
My soul was dead, my tongue was mute.
In that accursed hour.
And, in my dream, with silvery voice.
She said, or seemed to say,
"Youth is the season to rejoice — "
I could not choose but stay:
I could not say her nay.
She plucked a branch above her head.
With rarest fruitage laden:
"Drink of the juice. Sir Knight," she said
" 'Tis good for knight and maiden."
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 963
Oh, blind mine eye that would not trace —
Oh, deaf mine ear that would not heed —
The mocking smile upon her face,
The mocking voice of greed!
I drank the juice; and straightway felt
A fire within my brain:
My soul within me seemed to melt
In sweet delirious pain.
"Sweet is the stolen draught," she said:
"Hath sweetness stint or measure?
Pleasant the secret hoard of bread :
What bars us from our pleasure?"
"Yea, take we pleasure while we may,"
I heard myself replying.
In the red sunset, far away.
My happier life was dying:
My heart was sad, my voice was gay.
And unawares, I knew not how,
I kissed her dainty finger-tips,
I kissed her on the lilv brow,
I kissed her on the false, false lips —
That burning kiss, I feel it now!
"True love gives true love of the best:
Then take," I cried, "my heart to thee!"
The very heart from out my breast
I plucked, I gave it willingly:
Her very heart she gave to me —
Then died the glory from the west.
In the gray light I saw her face.
And it was withered, old, and gray;
964 VERSE
The flowers were fading in their place.
Were fading with the fading day.
Forth from her, Hke a hunted deer,
Through all that ghastly night I fled,
And still behind me seemed to hear
Her fierce unflagging tread;
And scarce drew breath for fear.
Yet marked I well how strangely seemed
The heart within my breast to sleep :
Silent it lay, or so I dreamed,
With never a throb or leap.
I
For hers was now my heart, she said.
The heart that once had been mine own :
And in my breast I bore instead
A cold, cold heart of stone.
So grew the morning overhead.
The sun shot downward through the trees
His old familiar flame:
All ancient sounds upon the breeze
From copse and meadow came- -
But I was not the same.
They call me mad : I smile, I weep.
Uncaring how or why :
Yea, when one's heart is laid asleep.
What better than to die ?
So that the grave be dark and deep.
To die! To die? And yet, methinks,
I drink of life, to-day.
Deep as the thirsty traveller drinks
Of fountain by the way:
My voice is sad, my heart is gay.
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 965
When yestereve was on the wane,
I heard a clear voice singing
So sweetly that, like summer-rain.
My happy tears came springing:
My human heart returned again.
''A rosy child,
Sitting and singing, in a garden fair,
The joy of hearing, seeing.
The simple joy of being —
Or twining rosebuds in the golden hair
That ripples free and wild,
''A sweet pale child —
Wearily loo\ing to the purple West —
Waiting the great For-ever
That suddenly shall sever
The cruel chains that hold her from her rest —
By earth-joys unbeguiled.
''An angel-child —
Gazing with living eyes on a dead face:
The mortal form foresa\en,
That none may now awa\en.
That lieth painless, moveless in her place,
As though in death she smiled!
''Be as a child —
So shalt thou sing for very joy of breath —
So shalt thou wait thy dying,
In holy transport lying —
So pass rejoicing through the gate of death,
In garment undefded!'
966 VERSE
Then call me what they will, I know
That now my soul is glad:
If this be madness, better so,
Far better to be mad.
Weeping or smiling as I go.
For if I weep, it is that now
I see how deep a loss is mine.
And feel how brightly round my brow
The coronal might shine.
Had I but kept mine early vow:
And if I smile, it is that now
I see the promise of the years —
The garland waiting for my brow,
That must be won with tears.
With pain — with death — I care not how.
May 9, 1862.
THE WILLOW-TREE
The morn was bright, the steeds were light,
The wedding guests were gay :
Young Ellen stood within the wood
And watched them pass away.
She scarcely saw the gallant train :
The tear-drop dimmed her e'e:
Unheard the maiden did complain
Beneath the Willow-Tree.
"Oh, Robin, thou didst love me well,
Till, on a bitter day.
She came, the Lady Isabel,
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 967
And stole thy heart away.
My tears are vain : I Hve again
In days that used to be,
When I could meet thy welcome feet
Beneath the Willow-Tree.
*'Oh, Willow gray, I may not stay
Till Spring renew thy leaf;
But I will hide myself away,
And nurse a lonely grief.
It shall not dim Life's joy for him:
My tears he shall not see:
While he is by, I'll come not nigh
My weeping Willow-Tree.
''But when I die, oh, let me lie
Beneath thy loving shade,
That he may loiter careless by,
Where I am lowly laid.
And let the white white marble tell.
If he should stoop to see,
'Here lies a maid that loved thee well,
Beneath the Willow-Tree.' "
1859.
ONLY A WOMAN'S HAIR
["After the death of Dean Swift, there was found
among his papers a small packet containing a single lock
of hair and inscribed with the above words."]
"Only a woman's hair!" Fling it aside!
A bubble on Life's mighty stream :
968 VERSE
Heed it not, man, but watch the broadening tide
Bright with the western beam.
Nay! In those words there rings from other years
The echo o£ a long low cry.
Where a proud spirit wrestles with its tears
In loneliest agony.
And, as I touch that lock, strange visions throng
Upon my soul with dreamy grace —
Of woman's hair, the theme of poet's song
In every time and place.
A child's bright tresses, by the breezes kissed
To sweet disorder as she flies.
Veiling, beneath a cloud of golden mist,
Flushed cheek and laughing eyes —
Or fringing, like a shadow, raven-black,
The glory of a queen-like face —
Or from a gipsy's sunny brow tossed back
In wild and wanton grace
Or crown-like on the hoary head of Age,
Whose tale of life is well-nigh told —
Or, last, in dreams I make my pilgrimage
To Bethany of old.
I see the feast — the purple and the gold;
The gathering crowd of Pharisees,
Whose scornful eyes are centred to behold
Yon woman on her knees.
The stifled sob rings strangely on mine ears,
Wrung from the depth of sin's despair:
And still she bathes the sacred feet with tears.
And wipes them with her hair.
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 969
He scorned not then the simple loving deed
Of her, the lowest and the last;
Then scorn not thou, but use with earnest heed
This relic of the past.
The eyes that loved it once no longer wake:
So lay it by with reverent care —
Touching it tenderly for sorrow's sake —
It is a woman's hair.
Feb. 17, 1862.
THE SAILOR'S WIFE
See! There are tears upon her face —
Tears newly shed, and scarcely dried :
Close, in an agonised embrace,
She clasps the infant at her side.
Peace dwells in those soft-lidded eyes,
Those parted lips that faintly smile —
Peace, the foretaste of Paradise,
In heart too young for care or guile.
No peace that mother's features wear;
But quivering lip, and knotted brow,
And broken mutterings, all declare
The fearful dream that haunts her now,
The storm-wind, rushing through the sky,
Wails from the depths of cloudy space;
Shrill, piercing as the seaman's cry
When death and he are face to face.
970 VERSE
Familiar tones are in the gale:
They ring upon her startled ear :
And quick and low she pants the tale
That tells of agony and fear :
"Still that phantom-ship is nigh —
With a vexed and life-like motion,
All beneath an angry sky,
Rocking on an angry ocean.
"Round the straining mast and shrouds
Throng the spirits of the storm:
Darkly seen through driving clouds.
Bends each gaunt and ghastly form.
"See! The good ship yields at last!
Dumbly yields, and fights no more;
Driving, in the frantic blast.
Headlong on the fatal shore.
"Hark! I hear her battered side,
With a low and sullen shock,
Dashed, amid the foaming tide,
Full upon a sunken rock.
"His face shines out against the sky,
Like a ghost, so cold and white;
With a dead despairing eye
Gazing through the gathered night.
"Is he watching, through the dark,
Where a mocking ghostly hand
Points a faint and feeble spark
Glimmering from the distant land?
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 97I
"'Sees he, in this hour of dread.
Hearth and home and wife and child?
Loved ones who, in summers fled,
Clung to him and wept and smiled?
"Reeling sinks the fated bark
To her tomb beneath the wave:
Must he perish in the dark —
Not a hand stretched out to save?
''See the spirits, how they crowd!
Watching death with eyes that burn!
Waves rush in " she shrieks aloud,
Ere her waking sense return.
The storm is gone: the skies are clear:
Hush'd is that bitter cry of pain:
The only sound, that meets her ear,
The heaving of the sullen main.
Though heaviness endure the night.
Yet joy shall come with break of day:
She shudders with a strange delight —
The fearful dream is pass'd away.
She wakes : the gray dawn streaks the dark :
With early song the copses ring:
Far off she hears the watch-dog bark
A joyful bark of welcoming!
Feb, 23, 1857.
97^ VERSE
AFTER THREE DAYS
["Written after seeing Holman Hunt's picture. The
Finding of Christ in the Temple.'']
I STOOD within the gate
Of a great temple, 'mid the Hving stream
Of worshippers that thronged its regal state
Fair-pictured in my dream.
Jewels and gold were there;
And floors of marble lent a crystal sheen
To body forth, as in a lower air.
The wonders of the scene.
Such wild and lavish grace
Had whispers in it of a coming doom;
As richest flowers lie strown about the face
Of her that waits the tomb.
The wisest of the land
Had gathered there, three solemn trysting-days,
For high debate : men stood on either hand
To listen and to gaze.
The aged brows were bent,
Bent to a frown, half thought, and half annoy.
That all their stores of subtlest argument
Were baffled by a boy.
In each averted face
I marked but scorn and loathing, till mine eyes
Fell upon one that stirred not in his place.
Tranced in a dumb surprise.
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 973
Surely within his mind
Strange thoughts are born, until he doubts the lore
Of those old men, blind leaders of the blind,
Whose kingdom is no more.
Surely he sees afar
A day of death the stormy future brings;
The crimson setting of the herald-star
That led the Eastern kings.
Thus, as a sunless deep
Mirrors the shining heights that crown the bay,
So did my soul create anew in sleep
The picture seen by day.
Gazers came and went —
A restless hum of voices marked the spot —
In varying shades of critic discontent
Prating they knew not what.
"Where is the comely limb.
The form attuned in every perfect part.
The beauty that we should desire in him?"
Ah! Fools and slow of heart!
Look into those deep eyes.
Deep as the grave, and strong with love divine;
Those tender, pure, and fathomless mysteries.
That seem to pierce through thine.
Look into those deep eyes.
Stirred to unrest by breath of coming strife,
Until a longing in thy soul arise
That this indeed were life :
974 VERSE
That thou couldst find Him there,
Bend at His sacred feet thy wiUing knee,
And from thy heart pour out the passionate prayer,
"Lord, let me follow Thee!"
But see the crowd divide:
Mother and sire have found their lost one now:
The gentle voice, that fain would seem to chide,
Whispers, "Son, why hast thou" —
In tone of sad amaze —
"Thus dealt with us, that art our dearest thing?
Behold, thy sire and I, three weary days,
Have sought thee sorrowing."
And I had stayed to hear
The loving words, "How is it that ye sought?" —
But that the sudden lark, with matins clear,
Severed the links of thought.
Then over all there fell
Shadow and silence; and my dream was fled.
As fade the phantoms of a wizard's cell
When the dark charm is said.
Yet, in the gathering light,
I lay with half-shut eyes that would not wake,
Lovingly clinging to the skirts of night
For that sweet vision's sake.
Feb. i6, 1861.
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 975
FACES IN THE FIRE
The night creeps onward, sad and slow :
In these red embers' dying glow
The forms of Fancy come and go.
An island-farm — broad seas of corn
Stirred by the wandering breath of morn —
The happy spot where I was born.
The picture fadeth in its place:
Amid the glow I seem to trace
The shifting semblance of a face.
'Tis now a little childish form —
Red lips for kisses pouted warm —
And elf-locks tangled in the storm.
'Tis now a grave and gentle maid.
At her own beauty half afraid,
Shrinking, and willing to be stayed.
Oh, Time was young, and Life was warm,
When first I saw that fairy-form.
Her dark hair tossing in the storm.
And fast and free these pulses played,
When last I met that gentle maid —
When last her hand in mine was laid.
Those locks of jet are turned to gray.
And she is strange and far away
That might have been mine own to-day —
That might have been mine own, my dear,
Through many and many a happy year —
That might have sat beside me here.
976 VERSE
Ay, changeless through the changing scene,
The ghostly whisper rings between.
The dark refrain of "might have been."
The race is o'er I might have run :
The deeds are past I might have done;
And sere the wreath I might have won.
Sunk is the last faint flickering blaze :
The vision of departed days
Is vanished even as I gaze.
The pictures, with their ruddy light,
Are changed to dust and ashes white,
And I am left alone with night.
fan. i860.
A LESSON IN LATIN
Our Latin books, in motley row,
Invite us to our task —
Gay Horace, stately Cicero :
Yet there's one verb, when once we know,
No higher skill we ask:
This ranks all other lore above —
We've learned " 'Amare means 'to loveT
So, hour by hour, from flower to flower.
We sip the sweets of Life :
Till, all too soon, the clouds arise.
And flaming cheeks and flashing eyes
Proclaim the daWn of strife:
THREE SUNSETS AND OTHER POEMS 977
With half a smile and half a sigh,
''Amarel Bitter One!'' we cry.
Last night we owned, with looks forlorn,
"Too well the scholar knows
There is no rose without a thorn" —
But peace is made! We sing, this morn,
"No thorn without a rose!"
Our Latin lesson is complete :
We've learned that Love is Bitter-Sweet!
May 1888.
PUCK LOST AND FOUND
ACROSTIC
["Inscribed in two books . . . presented to a little girl
and boy, as a sort of memento of a visit paid by them to
the author one day, on which occasion he taught them the
pastime of folding paper 'pistols.' "]
■\
Puck has fled the haunts of men :
Ridicule has made him wary :
In the woods, and down the glen.
No one meet a Fairy!
"Cream!" the greedy Goblin cries —
Empties the deserted dairy —
Steals the spoons, and off he flies.
Still we seek our Fairy!
Ah! What form is entering?
Lovelit eyes and laughter airy!
Is not this a better thing.
978 VERSE
Child, whose visit thus I sing,
Even than a Fairy?
Nov. 22, 1891.
Puck has ventured back agen :
Ridicule no more affrights him
In the very haunts of men
Newer sport delights him.
Capering lightly to and fro,
Ever frolicking and funning —
"Crack!" the mimic pistols go!
Hark! The noise is stunning!
All too soon will Childhood gay
Realise Life's sober sadness.
Let's be merry while we may,
Innocent and happy Fay!
Elves were made for gladness!
Nov, 25, 1891.
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TO MY PUPIL
Beloved Pupil! Tamed by thee,
Addish-, Subtrac-, Multiplica-tion,
Division, Fractions, Rule of Three,
Attest thy deft manipulation!
Then onward! Let the voice of Fame
From Age to Age repeat thy story,
Till thou hast won thyself a name
Exceeding even Euclid's glory.
981
PREFACE
This Tale originally appeared as a serial in The Monthly
Packet beginning in April, 1880. The writer's intention
was to embody in each Knot (like the medicine so dexterous-
ly, but ineffectually, concealed in the jam of our early child-
hood) one or more mathematical questions — in Arithmetic,
Algebra, or Geometry, as the case might be — for the amuse-
ment, and possible edification, of the fair readers of that
magazine. L. C.
December, 1885
982
»»»»»»»»»»»»»^ «««««««««««««'*
A TANGLED TALE
Knot I
Excelsior
Goblin^ lead them up and down
The ruddy glov/ of sunset was already fading into the
somber shadows of night, when two travellers might have
been observed swiftly — at a pace of six miles in the hour —
descending the rugged side of a mountain; the younger
bounding from crag to crag with the agility of a fawn,
while his companion, whose aged limbs seemed ill at ease
in the heavy chain armour habitually worn by tourists
in that district, toiled on painfully at his side.
As is always the case under such circumstances, the
younger knight was the first to break the silence.
"A goodly pace, I trow!" he exclaimed. "We sped not
thus in the ascent!"
"Goodly, indeed!" the other echoed with a groan. "We
clomb it but at three miles in the hour."
"And on the dead level our pace is — ?" the younger
suggested; for he was weak in statistics, and left all such
details to his aged companion.
"Four miles in the hour," the other wearily replied.
"Not an ounce more," he added, with that love of met-
aphor so common in old age, "and not a farthing less!"
" 'Twas three hours past high noon when we left our
hostelry," the young man said, musingly. "We shall scarce
be back by supper-time. Perchance mine host will roundly
deny us all food!"
"He will chide our tardy return," was the grave reply,
"and such a rebuke will be meet."
983
984 STORIES
"A brave conceit!" cried the other, with a merry laugh.
"And should we bid him bring us yet another course, I
trow his answer will be tart!"
"We shall but get our deserts," sighed the elder knight,
who had never seen a joke in his life, and was somewhat
displeased at his companion's untimely levity. " 'Twill be
nine of the clock," he added in an undertone, "by the
time we regain our hostelry. Full many a mile shall we
have plodded this day!"
"How many? How many?" cried the eager youth, ever
athirst for knowledge.
The old man was silent.
"Tell me," he answered, after a moment's thought,
"what time it was when we stood together on yonder
peak. Not exact to the minute!" he added hastily, reading
a protest in the young man's face. "An' thy guess be with-
in one poor half-hour of the mark, 'tis all I ask of thy
mother's son! Then will I tell thee, true to the last inch,
how far we shall have trudged betwixt three and nine of
the clock."
A groan was the young man's only reply; while his
convulsed features and the deep wrinkles that chased
each other across his manly brow, revealed the abyss of
arithmetical agony into which one chance question had
plunged him.
Knot II
Eligible Apartments
Straight down the croo\ed lane^
And all round the square.
**Let's ask Balbus about it," said Hugh.
"All right," said Lambert.
A TANGLED TALE 985
"He can guess it," said Hugh.
"Rather," said Lambert.
No more words were needed: the two brothers under-
stood each other perfectly.
Balbus was waiting for them at the hotel: the journey
down had tired him, he said : so his two pupils had been
the round of the place, in search of lodgings, without the
old tutor who had been their inseparable companion from
their childhood. They had named him after the hero of
their Latin exercise-book, which overflowed with anec-
dotes of that versatile genius — anecdotes whose vagueness
in detail was more than compensated by their sensational
brilliance. "Balbus has overcome all his enemies" had
been marked by their tutor, in the margin of the book,
"Successful Bravery." In this way he had tried to extract
a moral from every anecdote about Balbus — sometimes
one of warning, as in, "Balbus had borrowed a healthy
dragon," against which he had written, "Rashness in
Speculation" — sometimes of encouragement, as in the
words, "Influence of Sympathy in United Action," which
stood opposite to the anecdote, "Balbus was assisting his
mother-in-law to convince the dragon" — and sometimes it
dwindled down to a single word, such as "Prudence,"
which was all he could extract from the touching record
that "Balbus, having scorched the tail of the dragon, went
away." His pupils like the short morals best, as it left'
them more room for marginal illustrations, and in this
instance they required all the space they could get to ex-
hibit the rapidity of the hero's departure.
Their report of the state of things was discouraging.
That most fashionable of watering-places. Little Mendip,
was "chock-full" (as the boys expressed it) from end to
end. But in one Square they had seen no less than four
cards, in different houses, all announcing in flaming capi-
986 STORIES
tals, "eligible apartments." "So there's plenty of choice,
after all, you see," said spokesman Hugh in conclusion.
"That doesn't follow from the data," said Balbus, as
he rose from the easy-chair, where he had been dozing
over The Little Mendip Gazette, "They may be all single
rooms. However, we may as well see them. I shall be glad
to stretch my legs a bit."
An unprejudiced bystander might have objected that
the operation was needless, and that this long lank crea-
ture would have been all the better with even shorter
legs: but no such thought occurred to his loving pupils.
One on each side, they did their best to keep up with his
gigantic strides, while Hugh repeated the sentence in
their father's letter, just received from abroad, over which
he and Lambert had been puzzling. "He says a friend of
his, the Governor of — what was that name again, Lam-
bert?" ("Kgovjni," said Lambert.) "Well, yes. The Gov-
ernor of — what-you-may-call-it — wants to give a very
small dinner-party, and he means to ask his father's
brother-in-law, his brother's father-in-law, his father-in-
law's brother, and his brother-in-law's father: and we're
to guess how many guests there will be."
There was an anxious pause. ''How large did he say
the pudding was to be?" Balbus said at last. "Take its
cubical contents, divide by the cubical contents of what
each man can eat, and the quotient — "
"He didn't say anything about pudding," said Hugh,
" — and here's the Square," as they turned a corner and
came into sight of the "eligible apartments."
"It is a Square!" was Balbus's first cry of deUght, as
he gazed around him. "Beautiful! Beau-ti-ful! Equi-
lateral! And rectangular!"
The boys looked round with less enthusiasm. "Number
Nine is the first with a card," said prosaic Lambert; but
A TANGLED TALE 987
Balbus would not so soon awake from his dream o£
beauty.
"See, boys!" he cried. "Twenty doors on a side! What
symmetry! Each side divided into twenf'-one equal parts!
It's delicious!"
"Shall I knock, or ring?" said Hugh, looking in some
perplexity at a square brass plate which bore the simple
inscription, "ring also."
"Both," said Balbus. "That's an Ellipsis, my boy. Did
you never see an Ellipsis before?"
"I couldn't hardly read it," said Hugh evasively. "It's
no good having an Ellipsis, if they don't keep it clean."
"Which there is one room, gentlemen," said the smiling
landlady. "And a sweet room too! As snug a little back-
room— "
"We will see it," said Balbus gloomily, as they fol-
lowed her in. "I knew how it would be! One room in
each house! No view, I suppose?"
"Which indeed there /V, gentlemen!" the landlady in-
dignantly protested, as she drew up the blind, and indi-
cated the back-garden.
"Cabbages, I perceive," said Balbus. "Well, they're
green, at any rate."
"Which the greens at the shops," their hostess explained,
"are by no means dependable upon. Here you has them
on the premises, and of the best."
"Does the window open?" was always Balbus's first
question in testing a lodging: and, "Does the chimney
smoke?" his second. Satisfied on all points, he secured
the refusal of the room, and they moved on to Number
Twenty-five.
This landlady was grave and stern. "I've nobbut one
room left," she told them: "and it gives on the back-
gyardin."
988 STORIES
"But there arc cabbages?" Balbus suggested.
The landlady visibly relented. "There is, sir," she said:
"and good ones, though I say it as shouldn't. We can't
rely on the shops for greens. So we grows them ourselves."
"A singular advantage," said Balbus: and, after the
usual questions, they went on to Fifty-two.
"And I'd gladly accommodate you all, if I could," was
the greeting that met them. "We are but mortal" ("Ir-
relevant!" muttered Balbus), "and I've let all my rooms
but one."
"Which one is a back-room, I perceive," said Balbus:
"and looking out on — on cabbages, I presume .f^"
"Yes, indeed, sir!" said their hostess. "Whatever other
folks may do, we grows our own. For the shops — "
"An excellent arrangement!" Balbus interrupted. "Then
one can really depend on their being good. Does the
window open?"
The usual questions were answered satisfactorily: but
this time Hugh added one of his own invention — "Does
the cat scratch?"
The landlady looked round suspiciously, as if to make
sure the cat was not listening. "I will not deceive you,
gentlemen," she said. "It do scratch, but not without you
pulls its whiskers! It'll never do it," she repeated slowly,
with a visible effort to recall the exact words of some
written agreement between herself and the cat, "without
you pulls its whiskers!"
"Much mav be excused in a cat so treated," said Balbus,
a» they left the house and crossed to Number Seventy-
three, leaving the landlady curtseying on the doorstep,
and still murmuring to herself her parting words, as if
they were a form of blessing, " — not without you pulls
its whiskers!" ^
At Number Seventy-three they found only a small shy
A TANGLED TALE 989
girl to show the house, who said "yes'm" in answer to all
questions.
"The usual room," said Balbus, as they marched in:
"the usual back-garden, the usual cabbages. I suppose
you can't get them good at the shops?"
"Yes'm," said the girl.
"Well, you may tell your mistress we will take the
room, and that her plan o£ growing her own cabbages
is simply achnirabler
"Yes'm," said the girl, as she showed them out.
"One day-room and three bedrooms," said Balbus, as
they returned to the hotel. "We will take as our day-room
the one that gives us the least walking to do to get to it."
"Must we walk from door to door, and count the
steps?" said Lambert.
"No, no! Figure it out, my boys, figure it out!" Balbus
gayly exclaimed, as he put pens, ink, and paper before
his hapless pupils, and left the room.
"I say! It'll be a job!" said Hugh.
"Rather!" said Lambert. •
Knot III
Mad Mathesis
/ waited for the train
*'Well, they call me so because I am a little mad, I
suppose," she said, good-humouredly, in answer to Clara's
cautiously worded question as to how she came by so
strange a nickname. "You see, I never do what sane peo-
ple are expected to do nowadays. I never wear long trains
(talking of trains, that's the Charing Cross Metropolitan
Station — I've something to tell you about that), and I
never play lawn-tennis. I can't cook an omelette. I can't
even set a broken limb! There's an ignoramus for you!"
990 STORIES
Clara was her niece, and full twenty years her junior;
in fact, she was still attending a High School — an institu-
tion of which Mad Mathesis spoke with undisguised aver-
sion. "Let a woman be meek and lowly!" she would say.
"None of your High Schools for me!" But it was vacation-
time just now, and Clara was her guest, and Mad Ma-
thesis was showing her the sights of that Eighth Wonder
of the world — London.
"The Charing Cross Metropolitan Station!" she re-
sumed, waving her hand towards the entrance as if she
were introducing her niece to a friend. "The Bayswater
and Birmingham Extension is just completed, and the
trains now run round and round continuously — skirting
the border of Wales, just touching at York, and so round
by the east coast back to London. The way the trains run
is most peculiar. The westerly ones go round in two
hours; the easterly ones take three; but they always man-
age to start two trains from here, opposite ways, punc-
tually every quarter of an hour."
"They part to meet again," said Clara, her eyes filling
with tears at the romantic thought.
"No need to cry about it!" her aunt grimly remarked.
"They don't meet on the same line of rails, you know.
Talking of meeting, an idea strikes me!" she added,
changing the subject with her usual abruptness. "Let's
go opposite ways round, and see which can meet most
trains. No need for a chaperon — ladies' saloon, you know.
You shall go whichever way you like, and we'll have a
bet about it!"
"I never make bets," Clara said very gravely. "Our
excellent preceptress has often warned us — "
"You'd be none the worse if you did!" Mad Mathesis
interrupted. "In fact, youM be the better, I'm certain!"
•'("Neither does our excellent preceptress approve of
A TANGLED TALE 99I
puns," said Clara. "But we'll have a match, if you like.
Let me choose my train," she added after a brief mental
calculation, "and I'll engage to meet exactly half as many
again as you do."
"Not if you count fair," Mad Mathesis bluntly inter-
rupted. "Remember, we only count the trains we meet
on the way. You mustn't count the one that starts as you
start, nor the one that arrives as you arrive."
"That will only make the difference of one train," said
Clara, as they turned and entered the station. "But I
never travelled alone before. There'll be no one to help
me to alight. However, I don't mind. Let's have a match."
A ragged little boy overheard her remark, and came
running after her. "Buy a box of cigar-lights, Miss!" he
pleaded, pulling her shawl to attract her attention. Clara
stopped to explain.
"I never smoke cigars," she said in a meekly apologetic
tone. "Our excellent preceptress — " But Mad Mathesis
impatiently hurried her on, and the little boy was left
gazing after her with round eyes of amazement.
The two ladies bought their tickets and moved slowly
down the central platform. Mad Mathesis prattling on as
usual — Clara silent, anxiously reconsidering the calcula-
tion on which she rested her hopes of winning the match.
"Mind where you go, dear!" cried her aunt, checking
her just in time. "One step more, and you'd have been in
that pail of cold water!"
"I know, I know," Clara said dreamily. "The pale, the
cold, and the moony — "
"Take your places on the spring-boards!" shouted a
porter.
"What are they for!" Clara asked in a terrified whisper.
"Merely to help us into the trains." The elder lady
spoke with the nonchalance of one quite used to the
99^ STORIES
process. "Very few people can get into a carriage without
help in less than three seconds, and the trains only stop
for one second." At this moment the whistle was heard,
and two trains rushed into the station. A moment's pause,
and they were gone again; but in that brief interval sev-
eral hundred passengers had been shot into them, each
flying straight to his place with the accuracy of a Minie
bullet — while an equal number were showered out upon
the side-platforms.
Three hours had passed away, and the two friends met
again on the Charing Cross platform, and eagerly com-
pared notes. Then Clara turned away with a sigh. To
young impulsive hearts, like hers, disappointment is al-
ways a bitter pill. Mad Mathesis followed her, full of
kindly sympathy.
"Try again, my love!" she said cheerily. "Let us vary
the experiment. We will start as we did before, but not
begin counting till our trains meet. When we see each
other, we will say 'One!' and so count on till we come
here again."
Clara brightened up. "I shall win that^' she exclaimed
eagerly, "if I may choose my train!"
Another shriek of engine whistles, another upheaving
of spring-boards, another living avalanche plunging into
two trains as they flashed by: and the travellers were off
again.
Each gazed eagerly from her carriage window, holding
up her handkerchief as a signal to her friend. A rush and
a roar. Two trains shot past each other in a tunnel, and
two travellers leaned back in their corners with a sigh —
or rather with two sighs — of relief "One!" Clara mur-
mured to herself. "Won! It's a word of good omen. This
time, at any rate, the victory will be mine!"
But was it ?
A TANGLED TALE 993
Knot IV
The Dead Reckoning
/ did dream of money-bags to-night
Noonday on the open sea within a few degrees of the
Equator is apt to be oppressively warm; and our two
travellers were now airily clad in suits of dazzling white
linen, having laid aside the chain-armour which they had
found not only endurable in the cold mountain air they
had lately been breathing, but a necessary precaution
against the daggers of the banditti who infested the
heights. Their holiday-trip was over, and they were now
on their way home, in the monthly packet which plied
between the two great ports of the island they had been
exploring.
Along with their armour, the tourists had laid aside
the antiquated speech it had pleased them to aflfect while
in knightly disguise, and had returned to the ordinary
style of two country gentlemen of the twentieth century.
Stretched on a pile of cushions, under the shade of a
huge umbrella, they were lazily watching some native
fishermen, who had come on board at the last landing-
place, each carrying over his shoulder a small but heavy
sack. A large weighing-machine, that had been used for
cargo at the last port, stood on the deck; and round this
the fishermen had gathered, and, with much unintelligible
jabber, seemed to be weighing their sacks.
"More like sparrows in a tree than human talk, isn't it?"
the elder tourist remarked to his son, who smiled feebly,
but would not exert himself so far as to speak. The old
man tried another listener.
"What have they got in those sacks. Captain?" he en-
quired, as that great being passed them in his never-end-
ing parade to and fro on the deck.
994 STORIES
The Captain paused in his march, and towered over the
travellers — tall, grave, and serenely self-satisfied.
"Fishermen," he explained, "are often passengers in My
ship. These five are from Mhruxi — the place we last
touched at — and that's the way they carry their money.
The money of this island is heavy, gentlemen, but it costs
little, as you may guess. We buy it from them by weight —
about five shillings a pound. I fancy a ten-pound note
would buv all those sacks."
By this time the old man had closed his eyes — in order,
no doubt, to concentrate his thoughts on these interesting
facts; but the Captain failed to realize his motive, and
with a grunt resumed his monotonous march.
Meanwhile the fishermen were getting so noisy over the
weighing-machine that one of the sailors took the pre-
caution of carrying off all the weights, leaving them to
amuse themselves with such substitutes in the form of
winch-handles, belaying-pins, etc., as they could find. This
brought their excitement to a speedy end: they carefully
hid their sacks in the folds of the jib that lay on the deck
near the tourists, and strolled away.
When next the Captain's heavy footfall passed, the
younger man roused himself to speak.
''What did you call the place those fellows came from,
Captain?" he asked.
"Mhruxi, sir."
"And the one we are bound for?"
The Captain took a long breath, plunged into the word,
and came out of it nobly. "They call it Kgovjni, sir."
"K — I give it up!" the young man faintly said.
He stretched out his hand for a glass of iced water
which the compassionate steward had brought him a min-
ute ago, and had set down, unluckily, just outside the
shadow of the umbrella. It was scalding hot, and he de-
A TANGLED TALE 995
cided not to drink it. The effort of making this resolu-
tion, coming close on the fatiguing conversation he had
just gone through, was too much for him: he sank back
among the cushions in silence.
His father courteously tried to make amends for his
nonchalance.
"Whereabout are we now, Captain?" said he. "Have
you any idea?"
The Captain cast a pitying look on the ignorant lands-
man. "I could tell you that, sir," he said, in a tone of
lofty condescension, "to an inch!"
"You don't say so!" the old man remarked, in a tone
of languid surprise.
"And mean so," persisted the Captain. "Why, what do
you suppose would become of My ship, if I were to lose
My longitude and My latitude? Could you make any-
thing of My Dead Reckoning?"
"Nobody could, I'm sure!" the other heartily rejoined.
But he had overdone it.
"It's perfectly intelligible," the Captain said, in an of-
fended tone, "to anyone that understands such things."
With these words he moved away, and began giving or-
ders to the men, who were preparing to hoist the jib.
Our tourists watched the operation with such interest
that neither of them remembered the five money-bags,
which in another moment, as the wind filled out the jib,
were whirled overboard and fell heavily into the sea.
But the poor fishermen had not so easily forgotten their
property. In a moment they had rushed to the spot, and
stood uttering cries of fury, and pointing, now to the sea,
and now to the sailors who had caused the disaster.
The old man explained it to the Captain.
"Let us make it up among us," he added in conclusion.
"Ten pounds will do it, I think you said?"
996 STORIES
But the Captain put aside the suggestion with a wave
of the hand.
"No, sir!" he said, in his grandest manner. "You will
excuse Me, I am sure; but these are My passengers. The
accident has happened on board My ship, and under My
orders. It is for Me to make compensation." He turned
to the angry fishermen. "Come here, my men!" he said,
in the Mhruxian dialect. "Tell me the weight of each
sack. I saw you weighing them just now."
Then ensued a perfect Babel of noise, as the five natives
explained, all screaming together, how the sailors had
carried off the weights, and they had done what they
could with whatever came handy.
Two iron belaying-pins, three blocks, six holy stones,
four winch-handles, and a large hammer, were now care-
fully weighed, the Captain superintending and noting
the results. But the matter did not seem to be settled,
even then: an angry discussion followed, in which the
sailors and the five natives all joined: and at last the Cap-
tain approached our tourists with a disconcerted look,
which he tried to conceal under a laugh.
"It's an absurd difficulty," he said. "Perhaps one of you
gentlemen can suggest something. It seems they weighed
the sacks two at a time!"
"If they didn't have five separate weighings, of course
you can't value them separately," the youth hastily de-
cided.
"Let's hear all about it," was the old man's more cau-
tious remark.
"They did have five separate weighings," the Captain
said, "but — well, it beats me entirely!" he added, in a
sudden burst of candour. "Here's the result: First and
second sacks weighed twelve pounds; second and third,
thirteen and a half; third and fourth, eleven and a half;
A TANGLED TALE 997
fourth and fifth, eight: and then they say they had only
the large hammer left, and it took three sacks to weigh
it down — that's the first, third, and fifth — and they
weighed sixteen pounds. There, gentlemen! Did you ever
hear anything like that?''
The old man muttered under his breath, "If only my
sister were here!" and looked helplessly at his son. His
son looked at the five natives. The five natives looked at
the Captain. The Captain looked at nobody: his eyes
were cast down, and he seemed to be saying softly to him-
self, "Contemplate one another, gentlemen, if such be
your good pleasure. / contemplate Myself T
Knot V
Oughts and Crosses
Loo\ here, upon this picture, and on this
^'And what made you choose the first train. Goosey?"
said Mad Mathesis, as they got into the cab. "Couldn't
you count better than that?''
"I took an extreme case," was the tearful reply. "Our
excellent preceptress always says, 'When in doubt, my
dears, take an extreme case.' And I tvas in doubt."
"Does it always succeed?" her aunt inquired.
Clara sighed. "Not always^' she reluctantly admitted.
*'And I can't make out why. One day she was telling the
little girls — they make such a noise at tea, you know —
^'The more noise you make, the less jam you will have,
and vice versa.' And I thought they wouldn't know what
Vice versa' meant: so I explained it to them. I said, 'If you
make an infinite noise, you'll get no jam: and if you make
no noise, you'll get an infinite lot of jam.' But our ex-
cellent preceptress said that wasn't a good instance. Why
wasn't it?" she added plaintively.
99^ STORIES
Her aunt evaded the question. "One sees certain objec-
tions to it," she said. "But how did you work it with the
Metropohtan trains? None of them go infinitely fast, I
beheve."
"I called them hares and tortoises," Clara said — a little
timidly, for she dreaded being laughed at. "And I thought
there couldn't be so many hares as tortoises on the Line:
so I took an extreme case — one hare and an infinite num-
ber of tortoises."
"An extreme case, indeed," her aunt remarked with
admirable gravity: "and a most dangerous state of
things!"
"And I thought, if I went with a tortoise, there would
be only one hare to meet: but if I went with the hare —
you know there were crowds of tortoises!"
"It wasn't a bad idea," said the elder lady, as they left
the cab, at the entrance of Burlington House. "You shall
have another chance today. We'll have a match in mark-
ing pictures."
Clara brightened up. "I should like to try again, very
much," she said. "I'll take more care this time. How are
we to play.^"
To this question Mad Mathesis made no reply : she was
busy drawing lines down the margins of the catalogue.
"See," she said after a minute, "I've drawn three columns
against the names of the pictures in the long room, and
I want you to fill them with oughts and crosses — crosses
for good marks and oughts for bad. The first column is
for choice of subject, the second for arrangement, the
third for colouring. And these are the conditions of the
match: You must give three crosses to two or three pic-
tures. You must give two crosses to four or five — "
"Do you mean only two crosses?" said Clara. "Or may
A TANGLED TALE 999
I count the three-cross pictures among the two-cross pic-
tures?"
"Of course you may," said her aunt. "Anyone that has
three eyes, may be said to have two eyes, I suppose?"
Clara followed her aunt's dreamy gaze across the
crowded gallery, half-dreading to find that there was a
three-eyed person in sight.
"And you must give one cross to nine or ten."
"And which wins the match?" Clara asked, as she
carefully entered these conditions on a blank leaf in her
catalogue.
"Whichever marks fewest pictures."
"But suppose we marked the same number?"
"Then whichever uses most marks."
Clara considered. "I don't think it's much of a match,"
she said. "I shall mark nine pictures, and give three
crosses to three of them, two crosses to tv/o more, and one
cross each to all the rest."
"Will you, indeed?" said her aunt. "Wait till you've
heard all the conditions, my impetuous child. You must
give three oughts to one or two pictures, two oughts to
three or four, and one ought to eight or nine. I don't
want you to be too hard on the R.A.'s."
Clara quite gasped as she wrote down all these fresh
conditions. "It's a great deal worse than Circulating
Decimals!" she said. "But I'm determined to win, all the
same!"
Her aunt smiled grimly. "We can begin here,' she
said, as they paused before a gigantic picture, which the
catalogue informed them was the "Portrait of Lieutenant
Brown, mounted on his favourite elephant."
"He looks awfully conceited!" said Clara. "I don't think
he was the elephant's favourite Lieutenant. What a hid-
1000 STORIES
eous picture it is! And it takes up room enough for
twenty!"
"Mind what you say, my dear!" her aunt interposed.
"It's by an R.A.!"
But Clara was quite reckless. "I don't care who it's by!"
she cried. "And I shall give it three bad marks!"
Aunt and niece soon drifted away from each other in
the crowd, and for the next half -hour Clara was hard at
work, putting in marks and rubbing them out again,
and hunting up and down for a suitable picture. This she
found the hardest part of all. "I cant find the one I want!"
she exclaimed at last, almost crying with vexation.
"What is it you want to find, my dear?" The voice was
strange to Clara, but so sweet and gentle that she felt at-
tracted to the owner of it, even before she had seen her;
and when she turned, and met the smiling looks of two
little old ladies, whose round dimpled faces, exactly alike,
seemed never to have known a care, it was as much as she
could do — as she confessed to Aunt Mattie afterwards —
to keep herself from hugging them both. "I was looking
for a picture," she said, "that has a good subject — and
that's well arranged — but badly coloured."
The little old ladies glanced at each other in some alarm.
"Calm yourself, my dear," said the one who had spoken
first, "and try to remember which it was. What was the
subject?"
"Was it an elephant, for instance?" the other sister
suggested. They were still in sight of Lieutenant Brown.
"I don't know, indeed!" Clara impetuously replied.
"You know it doesn't matter a bit what the subject /V, so
long as it's a good one!"
Once more the sisters exchanged looks of alarm, and
one of them whispered something to the other, of which
Clara caught only the one word "mad."
A TANGLED TALE lOOI
"They mean Aunt Mattie, of course," she said to her-
self— fancying, in her innocence, that London was like
her native town, where everybody knew everybody else.
''If you mean my aunt," she added aloud, "she's there —
just three pictures beyond Lieutenant Brown."
"Ah, well! Then you'd better go to her, my dear!" her
new friend said soothingly. ''Shell find you the picture
you want. Good-bye, dear!"
"Good-bye, dear!" echoed the other sister. "Mind you
don't lose sight of your aunt!" And the pair trotted off
into another room, leaving Clara rather perplexed at their
manner.
They're real darlings!" she soliloquised. "I wonder
why they pity me so!" And she wandered on, murmuring
to herself, "It must have two good marks, and — "
Knot VI
Her Radiancy
One piecee thing that my have got,
MasJ^ee "^ that thing my no can do.
You tal\ee you no sabey what?
Bamboo,
They landed, and were at once conducted to the Palace.
About half-way they were met by the Governor, who
welcomed them in English — a great relief to our travel-
lers, whose guide could speak nothing but Kgovjnian.
"I don't half like the way they grin at us as we go by!"
the old man whispered to his son. "And why do they say
'Bamboo' so often?"
"It alludes to a local custom," replied the Governor,
1 (<
Maskee/' in Pigeon-English, means "Without."
1002 STORIES
who had overheard the question. "Such persons as hap-
pen in any way to displease Her Radiancy are usually
beaten with rods."
The old man shuddered. "A most objectionable local
custom!" he remarked with strong emphasis. "I wish we
had never landed! Did you notice that black fellow, Nor-
man, opening his great mouth at us? I verily believe he
would like to eat us!"
Norman appealed to the Governor, who was walking
at his other side. "Do they often eat distinguished
strangers here?" he said, in as indiflferent a tone as he
could assume.
"Not often — not ever!" was the welcome reply. "They
are not good for it. Pigs we eat, for they are fat. This old
man is thin."
"And thankful to be so!" muttered the elder traveller.
"Beaten we shall be without a doubt. It's a comfort to
know it won't be Beaten without the B! My dear boy,
just look at the peacocks!"
They were now walking between two unbroken lines
of those gorgeous birds, each held in check, by means of
a golden collar and chain, by a black slave, who stood
well behind, so as not to interrupt the view of the glitter-
ing tail, with its network of rustling feathers and its hun-
dred eyes.
The Governor smiled proudly. "In your honour," he
said, "Her Radiancy has ordered up ten thousand addi-
tional peacocks. She will, no doubt, decorate you, before
you go, with the usual Star and Feathers."
"It'll be Star without the S!" faltered one of his hearers.
"Come, come! Don't lost heart!" said the other. "All
this is full of charm for me."
"You are young, Norman," sighed his father; "young
A TANGLED TALE IOO3
and light-hearted. For me, it is Charm without the C."
"The old one is sad," the Governor remarked with
some anxiety. "He has, without doubt, effected some fear-
ful crime?"
"But I haven't!" the poor old gentleman hastily ex-
claimed. "Tell him I haven't, Norman!"
"He has not, as yet," Norman gently explained. And
the Governor repeated, in a satisfied tone, "Not as yet."
"Yours is a wondrous country!" the Governor resumed,
after a pause. "Now here is a letter from a friend of mine,
a merchant, in London. He and his brother went there
a year ago, with a thousand pounds apiece; and on New
Year's Day they had sixty thousand pounds between
them!"
"How did they do it?" Norman eagerly exclaimed.
Even the elder traveller looked excited.
The Governor handed him the open letter. "Anybody
can do it, when once they know how," so ran this oracular
document. "We borrowed nought: we stole nought. We
began the year with only a thousand pounds apiece: and
last New Year's Day we had sixty thousand pounds be-
tween us — sixty thousand golden sovereigns!"
Norman looked grave and thoughtful as he handed
back the letter. His father hazarded one guess. "Was it by
gambling?"
"A Kgovjnian never gambles," said the Governor grave-
ly, as he ushered them through the palace gates. They
followed him in silence down a long passage, and soon
found themselves in a lofty hall, lined entirely with pea-
cocks' feathers. In the center was a pile of crimson cush-
ions, which almost concealed the figure of Her Radiancy
— a plump little damsel, in a robe of green satin dotted
with silver stars, whose pale round face lit up for a mo-
1004 STORIES
ment with a half-smile as the travellers bowed before her^
and then relapsed into the exact expression of a wax doll,
while she languidly murmured a word or two in the
Kgovjnian dialect.
The Governor interpreted: "Her Radiancy welcomes
you. She notes the Impenetrable Placidity of the old one,
and the Imperceptible Acuteness of the youth."
Here the little potentate clapped her hands, and a troop
of slaves instantly appeared, carrying trays of coffee and
sweetmeats, which they offered to the guests, who had, at
a signal from the Governor, seated themselves on the
carpet.
"Sugar-plums!" muttered the old man. "One might as
well be at a confectioner's! Ask for a penny bun. Nor-
man!
"Not so loud!" his son whispered. "Say something
complimentary!" For the Governor was evidently expect-
ing a speech.
"We thank Her Exalted Potency," the old man timidly
began. "We bask in the light of her smile, which — "
"The words of old men are weak!" the Governor inter-
rupted angrily. "Let the youth speak!"
"Tell her," cried Norman, in a wild burst of eloquence,
"that, like two grasshoppers in a volcano, we are shrivelled
up in the presence of Her Spangled Vehemence!"
"It is well," said the Governor, and translated this into
Kgovjnian. "I am now to tell you," he proceeded, "what
Her Radiancy requires of you before you go. The yearly
competition for the post of Imperial Scarf -maker is just
ended; you are the judges. You will take account of the
rate of work, the lightness of the scarves, and their
warmth. Usually the competitors differ in one point only.
Thus, last year, Fifi and Gogo made the same number of
scarves in the trial-week, and they were equally light; but
A TANGLED TALE IOO5
Fifi's were twice as warm as Gogo's and she was pro-
nounced twice as good. But this year, woe is me, who can
judge it? Three competitors are here, and they differ in
all points! While you settle their claims, you shall be
lodged, Her Radiancy bids me say, free of expense — in
the best dungeon, and abundantly fed on the best bread
and water."
The old man groaned. "All is lost!" he wildly ex-
claimed. But Norman heeded him not: he had taken out
his notebook, and was calmly jotting down the par-
ticulars.
"Three they be," the Governor proceeded, "Lolo, Mimi,
and Zuzu. Lolo makes 5 scarves while Mimi makes 2;
but Zuzu makes 4 while Lolo makes 3! Again, so fairy-
like is Zuzu's handiwork, 5 of her scarves weigh no more
than one of Lolo's; yet Mimi's is lighter still — 5 of hers
will but balance 3 of Zuzu's! And for warmth one of
Mimi's is equal to 4 of Zuzu's; yet one of Lolo's is as
warm as 3 of Mimi's!"
Here the little lady once more clapped her hands.
"It is our signal of dismissal!" the Governor hastily
said. "Pay Her Radiancy your farewell compliments —
and walk out backwards."
The walking part was all the elder tourist could man-
age. Norman simply said, "Tell Her Radiancy we are
transfixed by the spectacle of Her Serene Brilliance, and
bid an agonised farewell to her Condensed Milkiness!"
"Her Radiancy is pleased," the Governor reported, after
duly translating this. "She casts on you a glance from Her
Imperial Eyes, and is confident that you will catch it!"
•"That I warrant we shall!" the elder traveller moaned
to himself distractedly.
Once more they bowed low, and then followed the
Governor down a winding staircase to the Imperial Dun-
I006 STORIES
geon, which they found to be Uned with colored marble,
lighted from the roof, and splendidly though not luxuri-
ously furnished with a bench of polished malachite. *'I
trust you will not delay the calculation," the Governor
said, ushering them in which much ceremony. "I have
known great inconvience — great and serious inconvience
— result to those unhappy ones who have delayed to exe-
cute the commands of Her Radiancy! And on this occa-
sion she is resolute: she says the thing must and shall be
done: and she has ordered up ten thousand additional
bamboos!" With these words he left them, and they heard
him lock and bar the door on the outside.
"I told you how it would end!" moaned the elder travel-
ler, wringing his hands, and quite forgetting in his
anguish that he had himself proposed the expedition, and
had never predicted anything of the sort. "Oh, that we
were well out of this miserable business!"
"Courage!" cried the younger cheerily. ''Hcec olim
meminisse juvabit! The end of all this will be glory!"
"Glory without the L!" was all the poor old man could
say, as he rocked himself to and fro on the malachite
bench. "Glory without the L!"
Knot VII
Petty Cash
Base is the slave that pays
"Aunt Mattie!"
'My child?"
Would you mind writing it down at once? I shall be
quite certain to forget it if you don't!"
"My dear, we really must wait till the cab stops. How
can I possibly write anything in the midst of all this
jolting?"
w
n
A TANGLED TALE IOO7
"But really I shall be forgetting it!"
Clara's voice took the plaintive tone that her aunt never
knevv^ how^ to resist, and with a sigh the old lady drew
forth her ivory tablets and prepared to record the amount
that Clara had just spent at the confectioner's shop. Her
expenditure was always made out of her aunt's purse,
but the poor girl knew, by bitter experience, that sooner
or later "Mad Mathesis" would expect an exact account
o£ every penny that had gone, and she waited, with ill-
concealed impatience, while the old lady turned the tablets
over and over, till she had found the one headed "petty
CASH."
"Here's the place," she said at last, "and here we have
yesterday's luncheon duly entered. One glass lemonade
(Why can't you drink water, like me?), three sandwiches
(They never put in half mustard enough. I told the young
woman so, to her face; and she tossed her head — like
her impudence!), and seven biscuits. Total one-and-two-
pence. Well, now for to-day's?"
"One glass of lemonade — " Clara was beginning to say,
when suddenly the cab drew up, and a courteous railway-
porter was handing out the bewildered girl before she
had had time to finish her sentence.
Her aunt pocketed the tablets instantly. "Business first,"
she said: "petty cash — which is a form of pleasure, what-
ever you may think — afterwards." And she proceeded to
pay the driver, and to give voluminous orders about the
luggage, quite deaf to the entreaties of her unhappy niece
that she would enter the rest of the luncheon account.
"My dear, you really must cultivate a more capacious
mind!" was all the consolation she vouchsafed to the
poor girl. "Are not the tablets of your memory wide
enough to contain the record of one single luncheon?"
I008 STORIES
"Not wide enough! Not half wide enough!" was the
passionate reply.
The words came in aptly enough, but the voice was
not that of Clara, and both ladies turned in some surprise
to see who it was that had so suddenly struck into their
conversation. A fat little old lady was standing at the
door of a cab, helping the driver to extricate what seemed
an exact duplicate of herself: it would have been no easy
task to decide which was the fatter or which looked the
more good-humoured of the two sisters.
"I tell you the cab-door isn't half wide enough!" she
repeated, as her sister finally emerged, somewhat after the
fashion of a pellet from a pop-gun, and she turned to ap-
peal to Clara. "Is it, dear?" she said, trying hard to bring
a frown into a face that dimpled all over with smiles.
"Some folks is too wide for 'em," growled the cab-
driver.
"Don't provoke me, man!" cried the little old lady, in
what she meant for a tempest of fury. "Say another word
and I'll put you into the County Court, and sue you for
a Habeas Corpus!" the cabman touched his hat, and
marched off, grinning.
"Nothing like a little Law to cow the ruffians, my
dear!" she remarked confidentially to Clara. "You saw
how he quailed when I mentioned the Habeas Corpus?
Not that I've any idea what it means, but it sounds very
grand, doesn't it?"
"It's very provoking," Clara replied, a little vaguely.
"Very!" the little old lady eagerly replied. "And we're
very much provoked indeed. Aren't we, sister?"
"I never was so provoked in all my life!" the fatter
sister assented radiantly.
By this time Clara had recognised her picture-gallery
acquaintances, and, drawing her aunt aside, she hastily
A TANGLED TALE IOO9
whispered her reminiscences. "I met them first in the
Royal Academy — and they were very kind to me — and
they were lunching at the next table to us, just now, you
know — and they tried to help me to find the picture I
wanted — and I'm sure they're dear old things!"
"Friends of yours, are they?" said Mad Mathesis. ''Well,
I like their looks. You can be civil to them, while I get
the tickets. But do try and arrange your ideas a little
more chronologically!"
And so it came to pass that the four ladies found them-
selves seated side by side on the same bench waiting for
the train, and chatting as if they had known one another
for years.
"Now this I call quite a remarkable coincidence!" ex-
claimed the smaller and more talkative of the two sisters —
the one whose legal knowledge had annihilated the cab-
driver. "Not only that we should be waiting for the same
train, and at the same station — that would be curious
enough — but actually on the same day, and the same hour
of the day! That's what strikes me so forcibly!" She
glanced at the fatter and more silent sister, whose chief
function in life seemed to be to support the family opin-
ion, and who meekly responded:
"And me too, sister!"
"Those are not independent coincidences — " Mad Ma-
thesis was just beginning, when Clara ventured to inter-
pose.
"There's no jolting here," she pleaded meekly. ''Would
you mind writing it down now?"
Out came the ivory tablets once more. "What was it,
then?" said her aunt.
"One glass of lemonade, one sandwich, one biscuit —
Oh, dear me!" cried poor Clara, the historical tone sud-
denly changing to a wail of agony.
lOIO STORIES
"Toothache?" said her aunt calmly, as she wrote down
the items. The two sisters instantly opened their reticules
and produced two different remedies for neuralgia, each
marked "unequalled."
"It isn't that!" said poor Clara. "Thank you very much.
It's only that I cant remember how much I paid!"
"Well, try and make it out, then," said her aunt.
"You've got yesterday's luncheon to help you, you know.
And here's the luncheon we had the day before — the first
day we went to that shop — one glass lemonade, jour sand-
wiches, ten biscuits. Total, one-and-ftvepenceT She hand-
ed the tablets to Clara, who gazed at them with eyes so
dim with tears that she did not at first notice that she was
holding them upside down.
The two sisters had been listening to all this with the
deepest interest, and at this juncture the smaller one softly
laid her hand on Clara's arm.
"Do you know, my dear," she said coaxingly, "my
sister and I are in the very same predicament! Quite
identically the very same predicament! Aren't we, sister?"
"Quite identically and absolutely the very—" began the
fatter sister, but she was constructing her sentence on
too large a scale, and the little one would not wuit for
her to finish it.
"Yes, my dear," she resumed; "we were lunching at the
very same shop as you were — and we had two glasses of
lemonade and three sandwiches and five biscuits — and
neither of us has the least idea what we paid. Have we,
sister?"
"Quite identically and absolutely — " murmured the
other, who evidently considered that she was now a whole
sentence in arrears, and that she ought to discharge one
obligation before contracting any fresh liabilities; but the
A TANGLED TALE lOII
little lady broke in again, and she retired from the con-
versation a bankrupt.
''Would you make it out for us, my dear?" pleaded the
little old lady.
"You can do Arithmetic, I trust?" her aunt said, a little
anxiously, as Clara turned from one tablet to another,
vainly trying to collect her thoughts. Her mind was a
blank, and all human expression was rapidly fading out
of her face.
A gloomy silence ensued.
Knot VIII
De Omnibus Rebus
This little pig went to mar\et:
This little pig staid at home,
**By Her Radiancy's express command," said the Gov-
ernor, as he conducted the travellers, for the last time,
from the Imperial presence, "I shall now have the ecstasy
of escorting you as far as the outer gate of the Military
Quarter, where the agony of parting — if indeed Nature
can survive the shock — must be endured! From that gate
grurmstipths start every quarter of an hour, both ways — "
"Would you mind repeating that word?" said Nor-
man. "Grurm — ?"
"Grurmstipths," the Governor repeated. "You call them
omnibuses in England. They run both ways, and you can
travel by one of them all the way down to the harbour."
The old man breathed a sigh of relief; four hours of
courtly ceremony had wearied him, and he had been in
constant terror lest something should call into use the ten
thousand additional bamboos.
I0I2 STORIES
In another minute they were crossing a large quad-
rangle, paved with marble, and tastefully decorated with
a pigsty in each corner. Soldiers, carrying pigs, were
marching in all directions: and in the middle stood a
gigantic officer giving orders in a voice of thunder, which
made itself heard above all the uproar of the pigs.
"It is the Commander-in-Chief!" the Governor hur-
riedly whispered to his companions, who at once followed
his example in prostrating themselves before the great
man. The Commander gravely bowed in return. He was
covered with gold lace from head to foot: his face wore
an expression of deep misery: and he had a little black
pig under each arm. Still the gallant fellow did his best,
in the midst of the orders he was every moment issuing
to his men, to bid a courteous farewell to the departing
guests.
"Farewell, O old one! — carry these three to the South
corner — and farewell to thee, thou young one — put this
fat one on the top of the others in the Western sty — may
your shadows never be less — woe is me, it is wrongly
done! Empty out all the sties, and begin again!" And the
soldier leant upon his sword, and wiped away a tear.
"He is in distress," the Governor explained as they left
the court. "Her Radiancy has commanded him to place
twenty-four pigs in those four sties, so that, as she goes
round the court, she may always find the number in each
sty nearer to ten than the number in the last."
"Does she call ten nearer to ten than nine is?" said
Norman.
"Surely," said the Governor. "Her Radiancy would ad-
mit that ten is nearer to ten than nine is — and also nearer
than eleven is."
"Then I think it can be done," said Norman.
The Governor shook his head. "The Commander has
A TANGLED TALE IOI3
been transferring them in vain for four months," he said.
"What hope remains? And Her Radiancy has ordered up
ten thousand additional — "
"The pigs don't seem to enjoy being transferred," the
old man hastily interrupted. He did not like the subject
of bamboos.
"They are only provisionally transferred, you know,"
said the Governor. "In most cases they are immediately
carried back again: so they need not mind it. And all is
done with the greatest care, under the personal superin-
tendence of the Commander-in-Chief."
"Of course she would only go once round?" said Nor-
man.
"Alas, no!" sighed their conductor. "Round and round.
Round and round. These are Her Radiancy's own words.
But oh, agony! Here is the outer gate, and we must part!"
He sobbed as he shook hands with them, and the next
moment was briskly walking away.
"He might have waited to see us oflf!" said the old man
piteously.
"And he needn't have begun whistling the very mo-
ment he left us!" said the young one severely. "But look
sharp — here are two what's-his-names in the act of start-
mg!
Unluckily, the sea-bound omnibus was full. "Never
mind!" said Norman cheerily. "We'll walk on till the
next one overtakes us."
They trudged on in silence, both thinking over the
military problem, till they met an omnibus coming from
the sea. The elder traveller took out his watch. "Just
twelve minutes and a half since we started," he remarked
in an absent manner. Suddenly the vacant face bright-
ened; the old man had an idea. "My boy!" he shouted,
bringing his hand down upon Norman's shoulder so sud-
I0I4 STORIES
denly as for a moment to transfer his centre of gravity
beyond the base of support.
Thus taken oflf his guard, the young man wildly stag-
gered forwards, and seemed about to plunge into space:
but in another moment he had gracefully recovered him-
self. "Problem in Precession and Nutation," he remarked
— in tones where filial respect only just managed to con-
ceal a shade of annoyance. "What is it?" he hastily added,
fearing his father might have been taken ill. "Will you
have some brandy?"
"When will the next omnibus overtake us? When?
When?" the old man cried, growing more excited every
moment.
Norman looked gloomy. "Give me time," he said. "I
must think it over." And once more the travellers passed
on in silence — a silence only broken by the distant squeals
of the unfortunate little pigs, who were still being provi-
sionally transferred from sty to sty, under the personal
superintendence of the Commander-in-Chief.
Knot IX
A Serpent with Corners
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drin\.
"It'll just take one more pebble."
"Whatever are you doing with those buckets?"
The speakers were Hugh and Lambert. Place, the beach
of Little Mendip. Time 1 130 p. m. Hugh was floating a
bucket in another a size larger, and trying how many
pebbles it would carry without sinking. Lambert was
lying on his back, doing nothing.
For the next minute or two Hugh was silent, evidently
A TANGLED TALE IOI5
deep in thought. Suddenly he started. "I say, look here,
Lambert!" he cried.
"If it's alive, and slimy, and with legs, I don't care to,"
said Lambert.
"Didn't Balbus say this morning that, if a body is im-
mersed in liquid it displaces as much liquid as is equal
to its own bulk?" said Hugh.
"He said things of that sort," Lambert vaguely replied.
"Well, just look here a minute. Here's the little bucket
almost quite immersed: so the water displaced ought to
be just about the same bulk. And now just look at it!"
He took out the little bucket as he spoke, and handed
the big one to Lambert. "Why, there's hardly a teacup-
ful! Do you mean to say that water is the same bulk as
the Uttle bucket?"
"Course it is," said Lambert.
"Well, look here again!" cried Hugh, triumphantly, as
he poured the water from the big bucket into the little
one. "Why, it doesn't half fill it!"
"That's its business," said Lambert. "If Balbus says it's
the same bulk, why, it is the same bulk, you know."
"Well, I don't believe it," said Hugh.
"You needn't," said Lambert. "Besides, it's dinner-
time. Come along."
They found Balbus waiting dinner for them, and to
him Hugh at once propounded his difficulty.
"Let's get you helped first," said Balbus, briskly cutting
away at the joint. "You know the old proverb, 'Mutton
first, mechanics afterwards'?"
The boys did not know the proverb, but they accepted
it in perfect good faith, as they did every piece of in-
formation, however startling, that came from so infallible
an authority as their tutor. They ate on steadily in silence,
and, when dinner was over, Hugh set out the usual array
I0l6 STORIES
of pens, ink, and paper, while Balbus repeated to them
the problem he had prepared for their afternoon's task.
"A friend of mine has a flower-garden — a very pretty
one, though no great size — "
"How big is it?" said Hugh.
"That's what you have to find out!" Balbus gayly re-
plied. "All / tell you is that it is oblong in shape — just
half a yard longer than its width — and that a gravel-
walk, one yard wide, begins at one corner and runs all
round it."
"Joining into itself?" said Hugh.
''Not joining into itself, young man. Just before doing
that, it turns a corner, and runs round the garden again,
alongside of the first portion, and then inside that again,
winding in and in, and each lap touching the last one,
till it has used up the whole of the area."
"Like a serpent with corners?" said Lambert.
"Exactly so. And if you walk the whole length of it, to
the last inch, keeping in the centre of the path, it's exactly
two miles and half a furlong. Now, while you find out
the length and breadth of the garden, I'll see if I can
think out that sea-water puzzle."
"You said it was a flower-garden?" Hugh inquired, as
Balbus was leaving the room.
"I did," said Balbus.
"Where do the flowers grow?" said Hugh. But Balbus
thought it best not to hear the question. He left the boys
to their problem, and, in the silence of his own room,
set himself to unravel Hugh's mechanical paradox.
"To fix our thoughts," he murmured to himself, as,
with hands deep-buried in his pockets, he paced up and
down the room, "we will take a cylindrical glass jar, with
a scale of inches marked up the side, and fill it with water
up to the lo-inch mark: and we will assume that every
A TANGLED TALE IOI7
inch depth of jar contains a pint of water. We will now
take a solid cylinder, such that every inch of it is equal
in bulk to half a pint of water, and plunge 4 inches of it
into the water, so that the end of the cylinder comes down
to the 6-inch mark. Well, that displaces 2 pints of water.
What becomes of them? Why, if there were no more
cylinder, they would lie comfortably on the top, and fill
the jar up to the 12-inch mark. But unfortunately there
is more cylinder, occupying half the space between the
lo-inch and the 12-inch marks, so that only one pint of
water can be accommodated there. What becomes of the
other pint ? Why, if there were no more cylinder, it would
lie on the top, and fill the jar up to the 13-inch mark.
But unfortunately — Shade of Newton!" he exclaimed, in
sudden accents of terror. "When does the water stop
nsmg r
A bright idea struck him. "FU write a little essay on it,"
he said.
Balbus's Essay
"When a solid is immersed in a liquid, it is well known
that it displaces a portion of the liquid equal to itself in
bulk, and that the level of the liquid rises just so much
as it would rise if a quantity of liquid had been added
to it, equal in bulk to the solid. Lardner says precisely the
same process occurs when a solid is partially immersed:
the quantity of liquid displaced, in this case, equalling the
portion of the solid which is immersed, and the rise of
the level being in proportion.
"Suppose a solid held above the surface of a liquid and
partially immersed: a portion of the liquid is displaced,
and the level of the liquid rises. But, by this rise of level,
a little bit more of the solid is of course immersed, and so
there is a new displacement of a second portion of the
I0l8 STORIES
liquid, and a consequent rise of level. Again, this second
rise of level causes a yet further immersion, and by conse-
quence another displacement of liquid and another rise.
It is self-evident that this process must continue till the
entire solid is immersed, and that the liquid will then
begin to immerse whatever holds the solid, which, being
connected with it, must for the time be considered a part
of it. If you hold a stick, six feet long, with its ends in
a tumbler of water, and wait long enough, you must
eventually be immersed. The question as to the source
from which the water is supplied — which belongs to a
high branch of mathematics, and is therefore beyond our
present scope — does not apply to the sea. Let us there-
fore take the familiar instance of a man standing at the
edge of the sea, at ebb-tide, with a solid in his hand,
which he partially immerses: he remains steadfast and
unmoved, and we all know that he must be drowned.
The multitudes who daily perish in this manner to attest
a philosophical truth, and whose bodies the unreasoning
wave casts sullenly upon our thankless shores, have a
truer claim to be called the martyrs of science than a
Galileo or a Kepler. To use Kossuth's eloquent phrase,
they are the unnamed demigods of the nineteenth cen-
tury." ^
"There's a fallacy somewhere^'' he murmured drowsily,
as he stretched his long legs upon the sofa. "I must think
it over again." He closed his eyes, in order to concentrate
his attention more perfectly, and for the next hour or so
his slow and regular breathing bore witness to the care-
ful deliberation with which he was investigating this new
and perplexing view of the subject.
^ Note by the writer. — For the above essay I am indebted to a dear
friend, now deceased. ^
A TANGLED TALE IOI9
Knot X
Chelsea Buns
Yea, buns, and buns, and buns!
Old Song,
''How very, very sad!" exclaimed Clara; and the eyes
of the gentle girl filled with tears as she spoke.
"Sad — but very curious when you come to look at it
arithmetically," was her aunt's less romantic reply. "Some
of them have lost an arm in their country's service, some
a leg, some an ear, some an eye — "
"And some, perhaps, all!'' Clara murmured dreamily,
as they passed the long rows of weather-beaten heroes
basking in the sun. "Did you notice that very old one,
with a red face, who was drawing a map in the dust with
his wooden leg, and all the others watching? I thin^ it
was a plan of a battle — "
"The Battle of Trafalgar, no doubt," her aunt inter-
rupted briskly.
"Hardly that, I think," Clara ventured to say. "You see,
in that case, he couldn't well be aUve — "
"Couldn't well be alive!" the old lady contemptuously
repeated. "He's as lively as you and me put together!
Why, if drawing a map in the dust — with one's wooden
leg — doesn't prove one to be alive, perhaps you'll kindly
mention what does prove it!"
Clara did not see her way out of it. Logic had never
been her forte.
"To return to the arithmetic," Mad Mathesis resumed
— the eccentric old lady never let slip an opportunity of
driving her niece into a calculation — "what percentage do
you suppose must have lost all four — a leg, an arm, an
eye, and an ear?"
"How ean I tell?" gasped the terrified girl. She knew
well what was coming.
1020 STORIES
"You can't, of course, without data," her aunt replied:
"but Fm just going to give you — "
"Give her a Chelsea bun, miss! That's w^hat most young
ladies likes best!" The voice was rich and musical, and
the speaker dexterously whipped back the snowy cloth
that covered his basket, and disclosed a tempting array of
the familiar square buns, joined together in rows, richly
egged and browned, and glistening in the sun.
"No, sir! I shall give her nothing so indigestible! Be
oflf!" The old lady waved her parasol threateningly; but
nothing seemed to disturb the good humour of the jolly
old man, who marched on, chanting his melodious re-
frain :
' g M J . f^'i.ll., j: J I
Chel - sea buns! Chel - sea buns hot! Chel - sea buns!
j(!^ c • r^ r I r. ^^ J • i j . ^m
Pi - ping hot! Chel - sea buns hot! Chel - sea buns!
"Far too indigestible, my love!" said the old lady. "Per-
centages will agree with you ever so much better!"
Clara sighed, and there was a hungry look in her eyes
as she watched the basket lessening in the distance; but
she meekly listened to the relentless old lady, who at once
proceeded to count off the data on her fingers.
"Say that 70 per cent have lost an eye — 75 per cent an
car — 80 per cent an arm — 85 per cent a leg — that'll do it
beautifully. Now, my dear, what percentage, at least, must
have lost all four?"
No more conversation occurred — unless a smothered
exclamation of, "Piping hot!" which escaped from Clara's
lips as the basket vanished round a corner could be count-
ed as such — until they reached the old Chelsea mansion,
A TANGLED TALE I02I
where Clara's father was then staying, with his three sons
and their old tutor.
Balbus, Lambert, and Hugh had entered the house only
a few minutes before them. They had been out walking,
and Hugh had been propounding a difficulty which had
reduced Lambert to the depths of gloom, and had even
puzzled Balbus.
"It changes from Wednesday to Thursday at midnight,
doesn't it?" Hugh had begun.
"Sometimes," said Balbus cautiously.
"Always," said Lambert decisively.
''Sometimes^'' Balbus gently insisted. "Six midnights
out of seven, it changes to some other name."
"I meant, of course," Hugh corrected, "when it does
change from Wednesday to Thursday, it does it at mid-
night— and only at midnight."
"Surely," said Balbus. Lambert was silent.
"Well, now, suppose it's midnight here in Chelsea.
Then it's Wednesday west of Chelsea (say in Ireland or
America), where midnight hasn't arrived yet: and it's
Thursday east of Chelsea (say in Germany or Russia),
where midnight has just passed by?"
"Surely," Balbus said again. Even Lambert nodded this
time.
"But it isn't midnight anywhere else; so it can't be
changing from one day to another anywhere else. And
yet, if Ireland and America and so on call it Wednesday,
and Germany and Russia and so on call it Thursday, there
must be some place — not Chelsea — that has different days
on the two sides of it. And the worst of it is, the people
there get their days in the wrong order : they've got Wed-
nesday east of them, and Thursday west — just as if their
day had changed from Thursday to Wednesday!"
"I've heard that puzzle before!" cried Lambert. "And
1022 STORIES
ril tell you the explanation. When a ship goes round the
world from east to west, we know that it loses a day in its
reckoning: so that when it gets home and calls its day
Wednesday, it finds people here calling it Thursday, be-
cause we've had one more midnight than the ship has
had. And when you go the other way round you gain a
day."
"I know all that," said Hugh, in reply to this not very
lucid explanation: "but it doesn't help me, because the
ship hasn't proper days. One way round, you get more
than twenty-four hours to the day, and the other way you
get less: so of course the names get wrong: but people
that live on in one place always get twenty-four hours to
the day."
"I suppose there is such a place," Balbus said, medi-
tatively, "though I never heard of it. And the people must
find it very queer, as Hugh says, to have the old day east
of them, and the new one west: because, when midnight
comes round to them, with the new day in front of it and
the old one behind it, one doesn't see exactly what hap-
pens. I must think it over."
So they had entered the house in the state I have de-
scribed— Balbus puzzled, and Lambert buried in gloomy
thought.
"Yes, m'm. Master is at home, m'm," said the stately old
butler. (N.B. — It is only a butler of experience who can
manage a series of three M's together, without any inter-
jacent vowels.) "And the ole party is a-waiting for you in
the libery."
"I don't like his calling your father an old party," Mad
Mathesis whispered to her niece, as they crossed the hall.
And Clara had only just time to whisper in reply, "He
meant the whole party," before they were ushered into
the library, and the sight of the five solemn faces there
assembled chilled her into silence.
A TANGLED TALE IO23
Her father sat at the head of the table, and mutely
signed to the ladies to take the two vacant chairs, one on
each side of him. His three sons and Balbus completed
the party. Writing materials had been arranged round
the table, after the fashion of a ghostly banquet : the but-
ler had evidently bestowed much thought on the grim
device. Sheets of quarto paper, each flanked by a pen on
one side and a pencil on the other, represented the plates
— penwipers did duty for rolls of bread — while ink-bottles
stood in the places usually occupied by wine-glasses. The
piece de resistance was a large green baize bag, which
gave forth, as the old man restlessly lifted it from side to
side, a charming jingle, as of innumerable golden guineas.
"Sister, daughter, sons — and Balbus — " the old man be-
gan, so nervously that Balbus put in a gentle "Hear,
hear!" while Hugh drummed on the table with his fists.
This disconcerted the unpractised orator. "Sister — " he
began again, then paused a moment, moved the bag to
the other side, and went on with a rush, "I mean — this
being — a critical occasion — more or less — being the year
when one of my sons comes of age — " he paused again in
some confusion, having evidently got into the middle of
his speech sooner than he intended : but it was too late to
go back. "Hear, hear!" cried Balbus. "Quite so," said the
old gentleman, recovering his self-possession a little:
"when first I began this annual custom — my friend Bal-
bus will correct me if I am wrong — " (Hugh whispered,
"With a strap!" but nobody heard him except Lambert,
who only frowned and shook his head at him) " — this
annual custom of giving each of my sons as many guineas
as would represent his age — it was a critical time — so Bal-
bus informed me — as the ages of two of you were together
equal to that of the third — so on that occasion I made a
speech — " He paused so long that Balbus thought it well
1024 STORIES
to come to the rescue with the words, "It was a most — "
but the old man checked him with a warning look : "yes,
made a speech," he repeated. "A few years after that, Bal-
bus pointed out — I say pointed out—" ("Hear, hear!"
cried Balbus. "Quite so," said the grateful old man.)
" — that it was another critical occasion. The ages of two of
you were together double that of the third. So I made
another speech — another speech. And now again it's a crit-
ical occasion — so Balbus says — and I am making — " (here
Mad Mathesis pointedly referred to her watch) "all the
haste I can!" the old man cried, with wonderful presence
of mind. "Indeed, sister, Fm coming to the point now!
The number of years that have passed since that first occa-
sion is just two-thirds of the number of guineas I then
gave you. Now, my boys, calculate your ages from the
data, and you shall have the money!"
"But we \now our ages!" cried Hugh.
"Silence, sir!" thundered the old man, rising to his full
height (he was exactly five-foot five) in his indignation.
"I say you must use the data only! You mustn't even as-
sume which it is that comes of age!" He clutched the bag
as he spoke, and with tottering steps (it was about as
much as he could do to carry it) he left the room.
"And you shall have a similar cadeau^' the old lady
whispered to her niece, "when you've calculated that per-
centage!" And she followed her brother.
Nothing could exceed the solemnity with which the old
couple had risen from the table, and yet was it — was it a
grin with which the father turned away from his unhap-
py sons? Could it be — could it be a win\ with which the
aunt abandoned her despairing niece ? And were those —
were those sounds of suppressed chuckling which floated
into the room, just before Balbus (who had followed them
out) closed the door? Surely not: and yet the butler told
A TANGLED TALE IO25
the cook — but no, that was merely idle gossip, and I will
not repeat it.
The shades of evening granted their unuttered petition,
and "closed not o'er" them (for the butler brought in the
lamp) : the same obliging shades left them a "lonely bark"
(the wail of a dog, in the back-yard, baying the moon)
for "a while": but neither "morn, alas," nor any other
epoch, seemed likely to "restore" them — to that peace of
mind which had once been theirs ere ever these problems
had swooped upon them, and crushed them with a load
of unfathomable mystery!
"It's hardly fair," muttered Hugh, "to give us such a
jumble as this to work out!"
"Fair?" Clara echoed bitterly. "Well!"
And to all my readers I can but repeat the last words
of gentle Clara :
Fare-well!
Appendix
*'A kjiot," said Alice. ''Oh, do let me help to undo it!"
ANSWERS TO KNOT I
Problem. — Two travelers spend from 3 o'clock till 9 in
walking along a level road, up a hill, and home again:
their pace on the level being 4 miles an hour, up hill 3,
and down hill 6. Find the distance walked: also (within
half an hour) time of reaching top of hill.
Answer. — 24 miles: half-past 6.
Solution. — A level mile takes % of an hour, up hill 1/3,
down hill 1/6. Hence to go and return over the same mile,
whether on the level or on the hillside, takes V2 ^in hour.
Hence in 6 hours they went 12 miles out and 12 back. If
the 12 miles out had been nearly all level, they would have
taken a little over 3 hours; if nearly all up hill, a little un-
1026 STORIES
der 4. Hence 3 1/4 hours must be within V2 an hour of the
time taken in reaching the peak ; thus, as they started at 3,
they got there within 5^ an hour of ^/4 past 6.
Twenty-seven answers have come in. Of these, 9 are
right, 16 partially right, and 2 wrong. The 16 give the
distance correctly, but they have failed to grasp the fact
that the top of the hill might have been reached at any
moment between 6 o'clock and 7.
The two wrong answers are from Gerty Vernon and
A Nihilist. The former makes the distance "23 miles,"
while her revolutionary companion puts it at "27." Gerty
Vernon says, "they had to go 4 miles along the plain, and
got to the foot of the hill at 4 o'clock." They might have
done so, I grant; but you have no ground for saying they
did so. "It was 7!^ miles to the top of the hill, and they
reached that at Y^ before 7 o'clock." Here you go wrong in
your arithmetic, and I must, however reluctantly, bid you
farewell. 7^.4 miles, at 3 miles an hour, would not require
2% hours. A Nihilist says, "Let x denote the whole num-
ber of miles; y the number of hours to hill-top; .'. ^y =
number of miles to hilltop, and x — 3y == number of
miles on the other side." You bewilder me. The other side
of what? "Of the hill," you say. But then, how did they
get home again? However, to accommodate your views
we will build a new hostelry at the foot of the hill on the
opposite side, and also assume (what I grant you is pos-
sible, though it is not necessarily true) that there was no
level road at all. Even then you go wrong. You say :
'> = 6 '—f . . . (i);
X \
= 6 (ii)."
4/2
A TANGLED TALE IO27
I grant you (i), but I deny (ii) : it rests on the assumption
that to go part of the time at 3 miles an hour, and the rest
at 6 miles an hour, comes to the same result as going the
whole time at 4V2 niiles an hour. But this would only be
true if the ''part'' were in exact half, i,e.y if they went up
hill for 3 hours, and down hill for the other 3 : which they
certainly did not do.
The sixteen who are partially right, are Agnes Bailey,
F. K. FiFEE, G. E. B., H. P., Kit, M. E. T., Mysie, A
Mother's Son, Nairam, A Redruthian, A Socialist,
Spear Maiden, T. B. C, Vis Inerti^e, and Yak. Of these,
F. K., FiFEE, T. B. C, and Vis Inerti^e do not attempt
the second part at all. F. K. and H. P. give no working.
The rest make particular assumptions, such as that there
was no level road — that there were 6 miles of level road —
and so on, all leading to particular times being fixed for
reaching the hill-top. The most curious assumption is that
of Agnes Bailey, who says, "Let x = number of hours
X
occupied in ascent; then — = hours occupied in de-
2
^x
scent; and — = hours occupied on the level." I suppose
3
you were thinking of the relative rates^ up hill and on the
level; which we might express by saying that, if they went
x miles up hill in a certain time, they would go — miles
on the level in the same time. You have, in fact, assumed
that they took the same time on the level that they took in
ascending the hill. Fifee assumes that, when the aged
knight said they had gone "four miles in the hour" on the
level, he meant that four miles was the distance gone, not
merely the rate. This would have been — if Fifee will ex-
cuse the slang expression — a "sell," ill-suited to the dig-
nity of the hero.
1028 STORIES
And now, "descend, ye classic Nine!" who have solved
the whole problem, and let me sing your praises. Your
names are Blithe, E. W., L. B., A. Marlborough Boy^
O. V. L., Putney Walker, Rose, Sea-Breeze, Simple
Susan, and Money-Spinner. (These last two I count as
one, as they send a joint answer. Rose and Simple Susan
and Co. do not actually state that the hill-top was reached
sometime between 6 and 7, but, as they have clearly
grasped the fact that a mile, ascended and descended, took
the same time as two level miles, I mark them as "right."
A Marlborough Boy and Putney Walker deserve hon-
ourable mention for their algebraic solutions, being the
only two who have perceived that the question leads to
an indeterminate equation. E. W. brings a charge of un-
truthfulness against the aged knight — a serious charge, for
he was the very pink of chivalry! She says, "According to
the data given, the time at the summit affords no clue to
the total distance. It does not enable us to state precisely
to an inch how much level and how much hill there was
on the road." "Fair damsel," the aged knight replies, " — if,
as I surmise, thy initials denote Early Womanhood — be-
think thee that the word ^enable' is thine, not mine. I did
but ask the time of reaching the hill-top as my condition
for further parley. If now thou wilt not grant that I am a
truth-loving man, then will I affirm that those same ini-
tials denote Envenomed Wickedness!"
CLASS LIST
I
A Marlborough Boy. Putney Walker.
II
Blithe. Rose.
E. W. Sea-Breeze.
L. B. ^ Simple Susan.
O. V. L. Money-Spinner.
A TANGLED TALE IO29
Blithe has made so ingenious an addition to the prob-
lem, and Simple Susan and Co. have solved it in such
tuneful verse, that I record both their answ^ers in full. I
have altered a w^ord or tw^o in Blithe's — which I trust
she will excuse; it did not seem quite clear as it stood.
"Yet say," said the youth, as a gleam of inspiration
lighted up the relaxing muscles of his quiescent features.
"Stay. Methinks it matters little when we reached that
summit, the crown of our toil. For in the space of time
wherein we clambered up one mile and bounded down
the same on our return, we could have trudged the twain
on the level. We have plodded, then, four-and-twenty
miles in these six mortal hours; for never a moment did
we stop for catching of fleeting breath or for gazing on
the scene around!"
"Very good," said the old man. "Twelve miles out and
twelve miles in. And we reached the top sometime be-
tween six and seven of the clock. Now mark me! For
every five minutes that had fled since six of the clock
when we stood on yonder peak, so many miles had we
toiled upwards on the dreary mountain-side!"
The youth moaned and rushed into the hostel.
Blithe.
The elder and the younger knight
They salUed forth at three;
How far they went on level ground
It matters not to me;
What time they reached the foot of hill,
When they began to mount.
Are problems which I hold to be
Of very small account.
The moment that each waved his hat
Upon the topmost peak —
1030 STORIES
To trivial query such as this
No answer will I seek.
Yet can I tell the distance well
They must have travelled o'er:
On hill and plain, 'twixt three and nine.
The miles were twenty-four.
Four miles an hour their steady pace
Along the level track,
Three when they climbed — but six when they
Came swiftly striding back
Adown the hill; and little skill
It needs, methinks, to show,
Up hill and down together told.
Four miles an hour they go.
For whether long or short the time
Upon the hill they spent.
Two thirds were passed in going up.
One third in the descent.
Two thirds at three, one third at six.
If rightly reckoned o'er.
Will make one whole at four — the tale
Is tangled now no more.
Simple Susan.
Money-Spinner.
ANSWERS TO KNOT II
§ I. The Dinner Party
Problem, — The Governor of Kgovjni wants to give a
very small dinner party, and invites his father's brother-
in-law, his brother's father-in-law, his father-in-law's
brother, and his brother-in-law's father. Find the number
of guests. ^
Answer. — One.
A TANGLED TALE
IO3I
A = a
In this genealogy, males
are denoted by capitals,
and females by small let- b = B D = d
ters.
The Governor is E and
his guest is C. e = E
C
g = G
f
Ten answers have been received. Of these, one is wrong,
Galanthus Nivalis Major, who insists on inviting two
guests, one being the Governor's wife's brother s father.
If she had taken his sister s husband's father instead, she
would have found it possible to reduce the guests to one.
Of the nine who send right answers, Sea-Breeze is the
very faintest breath that ever bore the name! She simply
states that the Governor's uncle might fulfill all the con-
ditions "by intermarriages"! "Wind of the western sea,"
you have had a very narrow escape! Be thankful to appear
in the Class List at all! Bog-Oak and Bradshaw of the
Future use genealogies which require 16 people instead
of 14, by inviting the Governor's father s sister s husband
instead of his father s wifes brother, I cannot think this so
good a solution as one that requires only 14. Caius and
Valentine deserve special mention as the only two who
have supplied genealogies.
CLASS list
Bee.
I
M. M.
Old Cat.
Caius.
Matthew Matticks.
Valentine
1032
STORIES
Bog-Oak.
II
Bradshaw of the Future.
Ill
Sea-Breeze.
§ 2. The Lodgings
Problem, — A Square has 20 doors on each side, which
contains 21 equal parts. They are numbered all round, be-
ginning at one corner. From which of the four, Nos. 9,
25, 52, 73, is the sum of the distances, to the other three,
least }
Answer. — From No. 9.
A
9
• 12 5
8
•
D
•
13
16
9-
12
B
Let A be No. 9, B No. 25, C No. 52, and D No. 73.
Then AB = \/ (12^ + 5^) = V 169 = 13;
AC = 21;
AD = V (92 + 82) = V 145 = 12 4-
(N.B. /'.<?., "between 12 and 13")
BC = V (16^ + 122) ^ ^ ^00 = 20;
BD = V if + 21^) = V450 = 21 +;
CD = V (9' + 13') = \/250 = 15 +;
A TANGLED TALE IO33
Hence sum of distances from A is between 46 and 47;
from B, h/stween 54 and 55; from C, between 56 and 57;
from D, between 48 and 51. (Why not "between 48 and
49"? Make this out for yourselves.) Hence the sum is
least for A.
Twenty-five solutions have been received. Of these, 13
must be marked "zero," 5 are partly right, and 5 right.
Of the 15, I may dismiss Alphabetical Phantom, Bog-
Oak, Dinah Mite, Fifee, Galanthus Nivalis Major (I
fear the cold spring has blighted our Snow^drop), Guy,
H.M.S. Pinafore, Janet, and Valentine with the simple
remark that they insist on the unfortunate lodgers \eep'
ing to the pavement, (I used the words "crossed to Num-
ber Seventy-three" for the special purpose of showing that
short cuts were possible.) Sea-Breeze does the same, and
adds that "the result would be the same" even if they
crossed the Square, but gives no proof of this. M. M. draws
a diagram, and says that No. 9 is the house, "as the dia-
gram shows." I cannot see how it does so. Old Cat as-
sumes that the house must be No. 9 or No. 73. She does
not explain how she estimates the distances. Bee's arith-
metic is faulty: she makes "x/ 169 -)- \/442 -)- a/ 130 =
741. (I suppose you mean \/742, which would be a little
nearer the truth. But roots cannot be added in this man-
ner. Do you think \/9 -f- \/ 16 is 25, or even \/25?)
But Ayr's state is more perilous still: she draws illogical
conclusions with a frightful calmness. After pointing out
(rightly) that AC is less than BD, she says, "therefore
the nearest house to the other three must be A or C." And
again, after pointing out (rightly) that B and D are both
within the half-square containing A, she says, "therefore"
AB + AD must be less than BC + CD. (There is no
logical force in either "therefore." For the first, try Nos. i,
1034 STORIES
21, 605 70: this will make your premiss true, and your
conclusion false. Similarly, for the second, try Nos. i, 30,
5h 71-)
Of the five partly-right solutions. Rags and Tatters and
Mad Hatter (who send one answer between them) make
No. 25 6 units from the corner instead of 5. Cheam, E. R.
D. L., and Meggy Potts leave openings at the corners of
the Square, which are not in the data: moreover Cheam
gives values for the distances without any hint that they
are only approximations, Crophi and Morphi make the
bold and unfounded assumption that there were really 21
houses on each side, instead of 20 as stated by Balbus. "We
may assume," they add, "that the doors of Nos. 21, 42, 63,
84, are invisible from the centre of the Square"! What is
there, I wonder, that Crophi and Mophi would not as-
sume ?
Of the five who are wholly right, I think Bradshaw of
THE Future, Caius, Clifton C, and Martreb deserve
special praise for their full analytical solutions. Matthew
Matticks picks out No. 9, and proves it to be the right
house in two ways, very neatly and ingeniously, but why
he picks it out does not appear. It is an excellent synthet-
ical proof, but lacks the analysis which the other four
supply.
CLASS LIST
Bradshaw of the Future.
Caius.
Clifton C. \
Martreb.
A TANGLED TALE IO35
II
Matthew Matticks.
Ill
Cheam, Meggy Potts.
Crophi and Mophi.
E. R. D. L.
Rags and Tatters.
Mad Hatter.
A remonstrance has reached me from Scrutator on the
subject of Knot I, which he declares was "no problem at
all." "Two questions," he says, "are put. To solve one
there is no data: the other answers itself." As to the first
point, Scrutator is mistaken; there are (not "is") data
sufficient to answer the question. As to the other, it is in-
teresting to know that the question "answers itself," and I
am sure it does the question great credit: still I fear I can-
not enter it on the list of winners, as this competition is
only open to human beings.
ANSWERS TO KNOT III
Problem, — (i) Two travellers, starting at the same time,
went opposite ways round a circular railway. Trains start
each way every 15 minutes, the easterly ones going round
in 3 hours, the westerly in 2. How many trains did each
meet on the way, not counting trains met at the terminus
itself? (2) They went round, as before, each traveller
counting as "one" the train containing the other traveller.
How many did each meet?
Answers, — (i) 19. (2) The easterly traveler met 12; the
other 8.
1036 STORIES
The trains one way took 180 minutes, the other way
120. Let us take the l.c.m., 360, and divide the railway into
360 units. Then one set of trains went at the rate of 2 units
a minute and at intervals of 30 units; the other at the
rate of 3 units a minute and at intervals of 45 units. An
easterly train starting has 45 units between it and the first
train it will meet : it does 2/5 of this while the other does
3/5, and thus meets it at the end of 18 units, and so all the
way round. A westerly train starting has 30 units between
it and the first train it will meet: it does 3/5 of this while
the other does 2/5, and thus meets it at the end of 18 units,
and so all the way round. Hence if the railway be divided,
by 19 posts, into 20 parts, each containing 18 units, trains
meet at every post, and, in (i), each traveller passes 19
posts in going round, and so meets 19 trains. But, in (2),
the easterly traveller only begins to count after traversing
2/5 of the journey, i,e, on reaching the 8th post, and so
counts 12 posts: similarly the other counts 8. They meet
at the end of 2/5 of 3 hours, or 3/5 of 2 hours, i.e. 72
minutes.
Forty-five answers have been received. Of these, 12 are
beyond the reach of discussion, as they give no working.
I can but enumerate their names, Ardmore, E. A., F. A.
D., L. D., Matthew Matticks, M. E. T., Poo-Poo, and
The Red Queen are all wrong. Beta and Rowena have
got (i) right and (2) wrong. Cheeky Bob and Nairam
give the right answers, but it may perhaps make the one
less cheeky, and induce the other to take a less inverted
view of things, to be informed that, if this had been a com-
petition for a prize, they would have got no marks. (N.B.
— I have not ventured to put E. A.'s name in full, as she
only gave it provisionally, in case her answer should prove
right.)
A TANGLED TALE IO37
Of the 33 answers for which the working is given, 10
are wrong; 11 half-wrong and half -right; 3 right, except
that they cherish the delusion that it was Clara who trav-
elled in the easterly train — a point which the data do not
enable us to settle; and 9 wholly right.
The 10 wrong answers are from Bo-Peep, Financier^
I. W. T., Kate B., M. A. H., Q. Y. Z., Sea-Gull, Thistle-
down, Tom-Quad, and an unsigned one. Bo-Peep rightly
says that the easterly traveller met all trains which started
during the 3 hours of her trip, as well as all which started
during the previous 2 hours, i,e, all which started at the
commencements of 20 periods of 15 minutes each; and she
is right in striking out the one she met at the moment of
starting; but wrong in striking out the last train, for she
did not meet this at the terminus, but 15 minutes before
she got there. She makes the same mistake in (2). Finan-
cier thinks that any train, met for the second time, is not
to be counted. I. W. T. finds, by a process which is not
stated, that the travellers met at the end of 71 minutes
and 26J/2 seconds. Kate B. thinks the trains which are met
on starting and on arriving are never to be counted, even
when met elsewhere. Q. Y. Z. tries a rather complex alge-
braic solution, and succeeds in finding the time of meeting
correctly : all else is wrong. Sea-Gull seems to think that,
in (i), the easterly train stood still for 3 hours; and says
that, in (2), the travellers met at the end of 71 minutes
40 seconds. Thistledown nobly confesses to having tried
no calculation, but merely having drawn a picture of the
railway and counted the trains; in (i) she counts wrong;
in (2) she makes them meet in 75 minutes. Tom-Quad
omits (i) ; in (2) he makes Clara count the train she met
on her arrival. The unsigned one is also unintelligible; it
states that the travellers go "1/24 more than the total dis-
tance to be traversed"! The "Clara" theory, already re-
1038 STORIES
ferred to, is adopted by 5 of these, viz.^ Bo-Peep, Finan-
cier, Kate B., Tom-Quad, and the nameless writer.
The II half-right answers are from Bog-Oak, Bridget,
Castor, Cheshire Cat, G. E. B., Guy, Mary, M. A. H.,
Old Maid, R. W., and Vendredi. All these adopt the
"Clara" theory. Castor omits (i). Vendredi gets (i) right,
but in (2) makes the same mistake as Bo-Peep. I notice
in your solution a marvellous proportion-sum: "300
miles : 2 hours :: one mile : 24 seconds." May I venture
to advise your acquiring, as soon as possible, an utter dis-
belief in the possibility of a ratio existing between miles
and hours? Do not be disheartened by your two friends'
sarcastic remarks on your "roundabout ways." Their
short method, of adding 12 and 8, has the slight disad-
vantage of bringing the answer wrong: even a "round-
about" method is better than that! M. A. H., in (2), makes
the travellers count "one" after they met, not when they
met. Cheshire Cat and Old Maid get "20" as answer for
(i), by forgetting to strike out the train met on arrival.
The others all get "18" in various ways. Bog-Oak, Guy,
and R. W. divide the trains which the westerly traveller
has to meet into 2 sets, viz., those already on the line,
which they (rightly) make "11," and those which start-
ed during her 2 hours' journey (exclusive of train met on
arrival), which they (wrongly) make "7"; and they make
a similar mistake with the easterly train. Bridget (rightly)
says that the westerly traveller met a train every 6 min-
utes for 2 hours, but (wrongly) makes the number "20";
it should be "21." G. E. B. adopts Bo-Peep's method, but
(wrongly) strikes out (for the easterly traveller) the train
which started at the commencement of the previous 2
hours. Mary thinks a train met on arrival must not be
counted, even when met on a previous occasion.
The 3 who are wholly right but for the unfortunate
A TANGLED TALE IO39
"Clara" theory, are F. Lee, G. S. C, and X. A. B.
And now "descend, ye classic ten!" who have solved
the whole problem. Your names are Aix-les-Bains^ Al-
gernon Bray (thanks for a friendly remark, which comes
with a heart-warmth that not even the Atlantic could
chill), Arvon, Bradshaw of the Future, Fifee, H. L. R.,
}. L. O., Omega, S. S. G., and Waiting for the Train.
Several of these have put Clara, provisionally, into the
easterly train : but they seem to have understood that the
data do not decide that point.
CLASS LIST
Aix-les-Bains.
Algernon Bray.
Bradshaw of the Future.
Fifee.
H. L. R.
Omega.
S. o. G.
Waiting for the Train.
Arvon.
II
J. L. O.
F. Lee.
HI
G. o. G.
X.A. B.
ANSWERS TO KNOT IV
Problem. — There are 5 sacks, of which Nos. i, 2, weigh
12 lbs.; Nos. 2, 3, 131^ lbs.; Nos. 3, 4, iiYi lbs.; Nos. 4,
5, 8 lbs.; Nos. i, 3, 5, 16 lbs. Required the weight of each
sack.
Answer,— ^^^i, 6V2, 7^ 4/2, iVi-
1040 STORIES
The sum of all the weighings, 61 lbs., includes sack No
3 thrice and each other twice. Deducting twice the sum
of the ist and 4th weighings, we get 21 lbs. for thrice No.
3, i.e. 7 lbs. for No. 3. Hence, the 2nd and 3rd weighings
give 6J/2 lbs., 4/4 lbs. for Nos. 2, 4; and hence again, the
ist and 4th weighings give 5V^ lbs., 3^^ lbs., for Nos. i, 5.
Ninety-seven answers have been received. Of these, 15
are beyond the reach of discussion, as they give no work-
ing. I can but enumerate their names, and I take this
opportunity of saying that this is the last time I shall put
on record the names of competitors who give no sort of
clue to the process by which their answers were obtained.
In guessing a conundrum, or in catching a flea, we do
not expect the breathless victor to give us afterwards, in
cold blood, a history of the mental or muscular efforts by
which he achieved success; but a mathematical calcula-
tion is another thing. The names of this "mute inglori-
ous" band are Common Sense, D. E. R., Douglas, E. L.,
Ellen, I. M. T., J. M. C, Joseph, Knot I, Lucy, Meek,
M. F. C, Pyramus, Shah, Veritas.
Of the eighty-two answers with which the working, or
some approach to it, is supplied, one is wrong: seventeen
have given solutions which are (from one cause or an-
other) practically valueless: the remaining sixty-four I
shall try to arrange in a Class List, according to the vary-
ing degrees of shortness and neatness to which they seem
to have attained.
The solitary wrong answer is from Nell. To be thus
"alone in the crowd" is a distinction — a painful one, no
doubt, but still a distinction. I am sorry for you, my dear
young lady, and I seem to hear your tearful exclamation,
when you read these lines, "Ah! This is the knell of all
my hopes!" Why, oh why, did you assume that the 4th
and 5th bags weighed 4 lbs. each ? And why did you not
A TANGLED TALE IO4I
test your answers ? However, please try again : and please
don't change your nom-de-plume: let us have Nell hi the
First Class next time!
The seventeen whose solutions are practically valueless
are Ardmore, A Ready Reckoner, Arthur, Bog-Lark,
Bog-Oak, Bridget, First Attempt, J. L. C, M. E. T.,
Rose, Rowena, Sea-Breeze, Sylvia, Thistledown, Three-
Fifths Asleep, Vendredi, and Winifred. Bog-Lark tries
it by a sort of "rule of false," assuming experimentally
that Nos. I, 2, weigh 6 lbs. each, and having thus pro-
duced lyVz? instead of 16, as the weight of i, 3, and 5, she
removes "the superfluous pound and a half," but does
not explain how she knows from which to take it. Three-
Fifths Asleep says that (when in that peculiar state) "it
seemed perfectly clear" to her that, "3 out of the 5 sacks
being weighed twice over, 3/5 of 45=27, must be the total
weight of the 5 sacks." As to which I can only say, with
the Captain, "it beats me entirely!" Winifred, on the plea
that "one must have a starting-point," assumes (what I
fear is a mere guess) that No. i weighed 5V2 lbs. The
rest all do it, wholly or partly, by guess-work.
The problem is of course (as any algebraist sees at
once) a case of "simultaneous simple equations." It is,
however, easily soluble by arithmetic only; and, when
this is the case, I hold that it is bad workmanship to use
the more complex method. I have not, this time, given
more credit to arithmetical solutions ; but in future prob-
lems I shall (other things being equal) give the highest
marks to those who use the simplest machinery. I have
put into Class I those whose answers seemed specially
short and neat, and into Class III those that seemed spe-
cially long or clumsy. Of this last set, A. C. M., Furze-
Bush, James, Partridge, R. W., and Waiting for the
Train, have sent long wandering solutions, the substitu-
1042 STORIES
tions have no definite method, but seeming to have been
made to see what would come of it. Chilpome and Dub-
lin Boy omit some of the working. Arvon Marlborough
Boy only finds the weight of one sack.
CLASS LIST
B. E. D.
C. H.
Constance Johnson.
Greystead.
Guy.
Hoopoe.
J. F. A.
M. A. H.
Number Five.
Pedro.
R. E. X.
Seven Old Men.
Vis iNERTIiE.
Willy B.
Yahoo.
II
American Subscriber. J. B. B.
An Appreciative Schoolma'am.Kgovjni.
Ayr.
Bradshaw of the Future.
Cheam.
C. M. G.
Dinah Mite.
duckwing.
E. C. M.
E. N. LowRY.
Era.
euroclydon.
F. H. W.
FiFEE. V
G. E. B.
Land Lubber.
L. D.
Magpie.
Mary.
Mhruxi.
Minnie.
Money-Spinner.
Nairam.
Old Cat.
polichinelle.
Simple Susan.
o. o. G.
Thisbe.
A TANGLED TALE
1043
Harlequin.
Hawthorn.
Hough Green.
J. A. B.
Jack Tar.
Verena.
Wamba.
Wolfe.
Wykehamicus,
Y. M. A. H.
Ill
A. C. M.
Arvon Marleborough Boy.
Chilpome.
Dublin Boy.
Furze-Bush.
James.
Partridge.
R. W.
Waiting for the Train.
ANSWERS TO KNOT V
Problem. — To mark pictures, giving 3X's to 2 or 3, 2
to 4 or 5, and i to 9 or 10; also giving 3 o's to i or 2, 2 to
3 or 4, and i to 8 or 9; so as to mark the smallest possible
number of pictures, and to give them the largest possible
number of marks.
Answer, — 10 pictures; 29 marks; arranged thus:
XXXXXXXXXo
XXXXX 0000
XX 000 00 o 00
Solution, — By giving all the X's possible, putting into
brackets the optional ones, we get 10 pictures marked
thus:
XXXXX
X X X X (X)
X X (X)
XXX X(X)
1044 STORIES
By then assigning o's in the same way, beginning at
the other end, we get 9 pictures marked thus:
(0)0
(o) 000
(o) 00000000
All we have now to do is to run these two wedges as
close together as they will go, so as to get the minimum
number of pictures — erasing optional marks where by so
doing we can run them closer, but otherwise letting them
stand. There are 10 necessary marks in the ist row, and
in the 3rd; but only 7 in the 2nd. Hence we erase all
optional marks in the ist and 3rd rows, but let them stand
in the 2nd.
Twenty-two answers have been received. Of these, 11
give no working; so, in accordance with what I announced
in my last review of answers, I leave them unnamed,
merely mentioning that 5 are right and 6 wrong.
Of the eleven answers with which some working is
supplied, 3 are wrong. C. H. begins with the rash asser-
tion that under the given conditions "the sum is impos-
sible. For," he or she adds (these initialed correspondents
are dismally vague beings to deal with: perhaps "it"
would be a better pronoun), "10 is the least possible num-
ber of pictures" (granted) : "therefore we must either
give 2 X's to 6, or 2 o's to 5." Why "must," O alphabeti-
cal phantom? It is nowhere ordained that every picture
"must" have 3 marks! Fifee sends a folio page of solu-
tion, which deserved a better fate: she offers 3 answers,
in each of which 10 pictures are marked, with 30 marks;
in one she gives 2 X's to 6 pictures; in another to 7; in
the 3rd she gives 2 o's to 5; thus in every case ignoring
the conditions. (I pause to remark that the condition "2
A TANGLED TALE IO45
X's to 4 or 5 pictures" can only mean ''either to 4 or else
to 5": if, as one competitor holds, it might mean any
number not less than 4, the words ''or 5" would be super-
fluous.) I. E. A. (I am happy to say that none of these
bloodless phantoms appear this time in the class-list. Is
it IDEA with the "D" left out?) gives 2 X's to 6 pictures.
She then takes me to task for using the word "ought"
instead of "noughts." No doubt, to one who thus rebels
against the rules laid down for her guidance, the word
must be distasteful. But does not I. E. A. remember the
parallel case of "adder" ? That creature was originally "a
nadder": then the two words took to bandying the poor
"n" backwards and forwards like a shuttlecock, the final
state of the game being "an adder." May not "a nought"
have similarly become "an ought"? Anyhow, "oughts
and crosses" is a very old game. I don't think I ever heard
it called "noughts and crosses."
In the following Class List, I hope the solitary occupant
of III will sheathe her claws when she hears how narrow
an escape she has had of not being named at all. Her
account of the process by which she got the answer is so
meagre that, like the nursery tale of "Jack-a-Minory" (I
trust I. E. A. will be merciful to the spelling), it is scarce-
ly to be distinguished from "zero."
CLASS LIST
I
Guy. Old Cat.
Sea-Breeze
II
Ayr.
F. Lee.
Bradshaw of the Future.
H. Vernon
1046 STORIES
III
Cat.
answers to knot vi
Problem i. — A and B began the year with only ;/^iooo
apiece. They borrowed nought; they stole nought. On
the next New Year's Day they had £60,000 between them.
How did they do it ?
Solution. — They went that day to the Bank of England.
A stood in front of it, while B went round and stood be-
hind it.
Two answers have been received, both worthy of much
honour. Addlepate makes them borrow "zero" and steal
"zero," and uses both cyphers by putting them at the
righthand end of the ^1000, thus producing ^100,000,
which is well over the mark. But (or to express it in
Latin) At Spes Infracta has solved it even more ingeni-
ously: with the first cypher she turns the "i" of the £1000
into a "9," and adds the result to the original sum, thus
getting ^10,000: and in this, by means of the other "zero,"
she turns the "i" into a "6" thus hitting the exact ^/^ 60,000.
CLASS LIST
I
At Spes Infracta.
II
Addlepate.
Problem 2. — L makes 5 scarves, while M makes 2: Z
makes 4, while L makes 3. Five scarves of Z's weigh one
A TANGLED TALE IO47
of Us; 5 of M's weigh 3 of Z's, One of M's is as warm
as 4 of Z's and one of L's as warm as 3 of M's, Which is
best, giving equal weight in the result of rapidity of work,
lightness, and warmth?
Answer, — The order is M, L, Z.
Solution, — As to rapidity (other things being constant).
Us merit is to M's in the ratio of 5 to 2 : Z's to Us in the
ratio of 4 to 3. In order to get one set of 3 numbers ful-
filling these conditions, it is perhaps simplest to take the
one that occurs twice as unity, and reduce the others to
fractions : this gives, for L, M, and Z, the marks i, 2/3, 4/3.
In estimating for lightness, we observe that the greater the
weight, the less the merit, so that Z's merit is to Us as
5 to I. Thus the marks for lightness are 1/5, 5/3, i. And
similarly, the marks for warmth are 3, i, Y^, To get the
total result, we must multiply Us 3 marks together, and
do the same for M and for Z. The final numbers are i X
1/5 X 3. 2/5 X 5/3 X I, 4/3 X I X % ; i^e, 3/5, 2/3, 1/3;
i.e, multiplying throughout by 15 (which will not alter the
proportion), 9, 10, 5; showing the order of merit to be
M, U Z.
m
Twenty-nine answers have been received, of which five
are right, and twenty-four wrong. These hapless ones
have all (with three exceptions) fallen into the error of
adding the proportional numbers together, for each can-
didate, instead of multiplying. Why the latter is right,
rather than the former, is fully proved in textbooks, so I
will not occupy space by stating it here: but it can be il-
lustrated very easily by the case of length, breadth, and
depth. Suppose A and B are rival diggers of rectangular
tanks : the amount of work done is evidently measured by
1048 STORIES
the number of cubical feet dug out. Let A dig a tank 10
feet long, 10 wide, 2 deep: let B dig one 6 feet long, 5
wide, 10 deep. The cubical contents are 200, 300; i.e, B
is best digger in the ratio of 3 to 2. Now try marking for
length, width, and depth, separately; giving a maximum
mark of 10 to the best in each contest, and then adding
the results!
Of the twenty-four malefactors, one gives no working,
and so has no real claim to be named; but I break the rule
for once, in deference to its success in Problem i : he, she,
or it, is Addlepate. The other twenty-three may be di-
vided into five groups.
First and worst are, I take it, those who put the rightful
winner last; arranging them as "Lolo, Zuzu, Mimi." The
names of these desperate wrong-doers are Ayr, Bradshaw
OF THE Future, Furze-Bush, and Pollux (who send a
joint answer), Greystead, Guy, Old Hen, and Simple
Susan. The latter was once best of all; the Old Hen has
taken advantage of her simplicity, and beguiled her with
the chafJ which was the bane of her own chickenhood.
Secondly, I point the finger of scorn at those who have
put the worst candidate at the top; arranging them as
"Zuzu, Mimi, Lolo." They are Gr^cia, M. M., Old Cat,
and R. E. X. " 'Tis Greece, but — "
The third set have avoided both these enormities, and
have even succeeded in putting the worst last, their
answer being "Lolo, Mimi, Zuzu." Their names are Ayr
(who also appears among the "quite too too"), Clifton
C, F. B., FiFEE, Grig, Janet, and Mrs. Sairey Gamp.
F. B. has not fallen into the common error; she multiplies
together the proportionate number she gets, but in getting
them she goes wrong, by reckoning warmth as a de-merit.
Possibly she is "Freshly Burnt," or comes "From Bom-
A TANGLED TALE IO49
bay." Janet and Mrs. Sairey Gamp have also avoided
this error: the method they have adopted is shrouded in
mystery — I scarcely feel competent to criticise it. Mrs.
Gamp says, "If Zuzu makes 4 while Lolo makes 3, Zuzu
makes 6 while Lolo makes 5 [bad reasoning], while
Mimi makes 2." From this she concludes, "Therefore
Zuzu excels in speed by i" (/. e, when compared with
Lolo? but what about Mimi?). She then compares the
3 kinds of excellence, measured on this mystic scale. Janet
takes the statement that "Lolo makes 5 while Mimi makes
2," to prove that "Lolo makes 3 while Mimi makes i and
Zuzu 4" (worse reasoning than Mrs. Gamp's), and thence
concludes that "Zuzu excels in speed by J/s'M Janet should
have been Adeline, "mystery of mysteries!"
The fourth set actually put Mimi at the top, arranging
them as "Mimi, Zuzu, Lolo." They are Marquis and Co.,
Martreb, S. B. B. (first initial scarcely legible: fnay be
meant for "J"), and Stanza.
The fifth set consists of An Ancient Fish and Camel.
These ill-assorted comrades, by dint of foot and fin, have
scrambled into the right answer, but, as their method is
wrong, of course it counts for nothing. Also An Ancient
Fish has very ancient and fishlike ideas as to how num-
bers represent merit: she says, "Lolo gains 2^/4 on Mimi."
Two and a half what? Fish, fish, art thou in thy duty?
Of the five winners I put Balbus and The Elder
Traveller slightly below the other three — Balbus for de-
fective reasoning, the other for scanty working. Balbus
gives two reasons for saying that addition of marks is not
the right method, and then adds, "It follows that the
decision must be made by multiplying the marks to-
gether." This is hardly more logical than to say, "This is
not Spring: therefore it must be Autumn."
1050
STORIES
CLASS LIST
Dinah Mite.
I
E. B. D. L. JoRAi
II
Balbus.
The Elder Traveller.
With regard to Knot V, I beg to express to Vis Inerti^e
and to any others who, Uke her, understood the condition
to be that every marked picture must have three marks,
my sincere regret that the unfortunate phrase "^// the
columns w^ith oughts and crosses" should have caused
them to v^aste so much time and trouble. I can onlv re-
peat that a literal interpretation of "fill" w^ould seem to
me X.O require that every picture in the gallery should be
marked. Vis Inerti^e would have been in the First Class
if she had sent in the solution she now offers.
ANSWERS TO KNOT VII
Problem, — Given that one glass of lemonade, 3 sand-
wiches, and 7 biscuits, cost is. id.; and that one glass of
lemonade, 4 sandwiches, and 10 biscuits, cost li". 5^.: find
the cost of (i) a glass of lemonade, a sandwich, and a
biscuit; and (2) 2 glasses of lemonade, 3 sandwiches, and
5 biscuits.
Answer. — (i) %d.; (2) \s, yd.
Solution.— This is best treated algebraically. Let :v=
the cost (in pence) of a glass of lemonade, y of a sand-
wich, and 2r of a biscuit. Then we have x -\- i^y -\- 72:=
14, and X -\- ^y -\- 102^=17. And we require the values
A TANGLED TALE IO5I
oi X -\- y -\- z, and of 2x -\- i,y -\- ^z. Now, from two
equations only, we cannot find, separately, the values of
three unknowns: certain combinations of them may,
however, be found. Also we know that we can, by the
help of the given equations, eliminate 2 of the 3 un-
knowns from the quantity whose value is required, which
will then contain one only. If, then, the required value
is ascertainable at all, it can only be by the 3rd unknown
vanishing of itself: otherwise the problem is impossible.
Let us then eliminate lemonade and sandwiches, and
reduce everything to biscuits — a state of things even more
depressing than "if all the world were apple-pie" — by sub-
tracting the I St equation from the 2nd, which eliminates
lemonade, and gives y -|- 3^ = 3? or y = 3 — -^z; and
then substituting this value of y in the ist, which gives
X — 22: = 5, /. d*. ;i: = 5 -}- 20. Now if we substitute these
values of x, y, in the quantities whose values are required,
the first becomes (5 -f- 22:) + (3 — 3^) ~h ^^ ^- ^- 8: and
the second becomes 2(5 -f- 2z) +3(3 — 32:) -\- '^z, i. e.
19. Hence the answers are (i) M., (2) li*. yd.
The above is a universal method : that is, it is absolutely
certain either to produce the answer, or to prove that no
answer is possible. The question may also be solved by
combining the quantities whose values are given, so as to
form those whose values are required. This is merely a
matter of ingenuity and good luck: and as it may fail,
even when the thing is possible, and is of no use in prov-
ing it impossible, I cannot rank this method as equal in
value with the other. Even when it succeeds, it may prove
a very tedious process. Suppose the 26 competitors who
have sent in what I may call accidental solutions, had had
a question to deal with where every number contained 8
or 10 digits! I suspect it would have been a case of "silver-
1052 STORIES
ed is the raven hair" (see Patience) before any solution
would have been hit on by the most ingenious of them.
Forty-five answers have come in, of which 44 give, I
am happy to say, some sort of wording, and therefore de-
serve to be mentioned by name, and to have their virtues,
or vices, as the case may be, discussed. Thirteen have
made assumptions to which they have no right, and so
cannot figure in the Class List, even though, in 10 of the
12 cases, the answer is right. Of the remaining 28, no less
than 26 have sent in accidental solutions, and therefore
fall short of the highest honours.
I will now discuss individual cases, taking the worst
first, as my custom is.
Froggy gives no working — at least this is all he gives:
after stating the given equations, he says, "Therefore the
difference, i sandwich -\- 3 biscuits, = ^d!': then follow
the amounts of the unknown bills, with no further hint as
to how he got them. Froggy has had a very narrow es-
cape of not being named at all!
Of those who are wrong. Vis Inerti^e has sent in a piece
of incorrect working. Peruse the horrid details, and
shudder! She takes x (call it ''y") as the cost of a sand-
wich, and concludes (rightly enough) that a biscuit will
3 — y
cost . She then subtracts the second equation from
3 — y 3 — y
the first, and deduces 3y + 7 X — 4 y + 10 X
= 3. By making two mistakes in this line, she brings
out y =-|- . Try it again, O Vis iNERTiiE! Away with In-
ERTiiE : infuse a little more Vis : and you will bring out the
correct (though uninteresting) result, 0 = 0! This will
show you that it is hopeless to try to coax any one of these
A TANGLED TALE IO53
3 unknowns to reveal its separate value. The other com-
petitor who is wrong throughout, is either J. M. C. or T.
M. C. : but, whether he be a Juvenile Mis-Calculator or a
True Mathematician Confused, he makes the answers yd,
and IS, ^d. He assumes, with Too Much Confidence, that
biscuits were Yzd, each, and that Clara paid for 8, though
she only ate 7!
We will now consider the 13 whose working is wrong,
though the answer is right: and, not to measure their de-
merits too exactly, I will take them in alphabetical order.
Anita finds (rightly) that "i sandwich and 3 biscuits cost
3^/' and proceeds, "therefore i sandwich = i /4 d,, 3 bis-
cuits = 1/4 d,, I lemonade = 6d," Dinah Mite begins
like Anita: and thence proves (rightly) that a biscuit
costs less than id,: whence she concludes (wrongly) that
it must cost Vz^- F- C. W. is so beautifully resigned to the
certainty of a verdict of "guilty," that I have hardly the
heart to utter the word, without adding a "recommended
to mercy owing to extenuating circumstances." But really,
you know, where are the extenuating circumstances ? She
begins by assuming that lemonade is 4^. a glass, and
sandwiches 3^. each (making with the 2 given equations,
jour conditions to be fulfilled by three miserable un-
knowns!). And, having (naturally) developed this into a
contradiction, she then tries ^d, and 2d, with a similar re-
sult. (N.B. — This process might have been carried on
through the whole of the Tertiary Period, without grati-
fying one single Megatherium.) She then, by a "happy
thought," tries halfpenny biscuits, and so obtains a con-
sistent result. This may be a good solution, viewing the
problem as a conundrum: but it is not scientific. Janet
identifies sandwiches with biscuits! "One sandwich -[- 3
biscuits" she makes equal to "4." Four what? Mayfair
makes the astounding assertion that the equation, s -\- '^b
1054 STORIES
= 3, "is evidently only satisfied by ^" = 1, ^=i'M Old
Cat believes that the assumption that a sandv^ich costs
lYid, is "the only way to avoid unmanageable fractions."
But why avoid them? Is there not a certain glow o£ tri-
umph in taming such a fraction ? "Ladies and gentlemen,
the fraction now before you is one that for years defied all
efforts of a refining nature: it was, in a word, hopelessly
vulgar. Treating it as a circulating decimal (the treadmill
of fractions) only made matters worse. As a last resource,
I reduced it to its lowest terms, and extracted its square
root!" Joking apart, let me thank Old Cat for some very
kind words of sympathy, in reference to a correspondent
(whose name I am happy to say I have now forgotten)
who had found fault with me as a discourteous critic.
O. V. L. is beyond my comprehension. He takes the given
equations as (i) and (2): thence, by the process [(2) —
(i) ], deduces (rightly) equation (3), viz,, j- -)- 3^ := 3:
and thence again, by the process [ X 3 ] (a hopeless mys-
tery), deduces 35* -f- 4^ = 4- I have nothing to say about
it: I give it up. Sea-Breeze says, "It is immaterial to the
answer" (why?) "in what proportion ^d. is divided be-
tween the sandwich and the 3 biscuits": so she assumes
i" = i/4^v ^ = Vz^- Stanza is one of a very irregular
metre. At first she (like Janet) identifies sandwiches with
biscuits. She then tries two assumptions (/ = i, ^ = |
and ^ = |, ^ = |, ), and (naturally) ends in contradic-
tions. Then she returns to the first assumption, and finds
the 3 unknowns separately: quod est absurdum. Stiletto
identifies sandwiches and biscuits, as "articles." Is the
word ever used by confectioners? I fancied, "What is the
next article, ma'am?" was limited to linendrapers. Two
Sisters first assume that biscuits are 4 a penny, and then
that they are 2 a penny, adding that "the answer will of
course be the same in both cases." It is a dreamy remark,
A TANGLED TALE IO55
making one feel something like Macbeth grasping at the
spectral dagger. "Is this a statement that I see before me?"
If you were to say, "We both walked the same way this
morning," and / were to say, ''One of you walked the
same way, but the other didn't," which of the three would
be the most hopelessly confused? Turtle Pyate (what is
a Turtle Pyate, please?) and Old Crow, who send a joint
answer, and Y. Y., adopt the same method. Y. Y. gets the
equation y -|- 3^ = 3 : and then says, "This sum must be
apportioned in one of the three following ways." It may
be, I grant you: but Y. Y. do you say "must"? I fear it is
possible for Y. Y. to be two Y's. The other two conspira-
tors are less positive: they say it "can" be so divided: but
they add "either of the three prices being right"! This is
bad grammar and bad arithmetic at once, O mysterious
birds!
Of those who win honours, The Shetland Snark must
have the Third Class all to himself. He has only an-
swered half the question, viz. the amount of Clara's
luncheon: the two little old ladies he pitilessly leaves in
the midst of their "difficulty." I beg to assure him (with
thanks for his friendly remarks) that entrance-fees and
subscriptions are things unknown in that most econom-
ical of clubs, "The Knot-Untiers."
The authors of the 26 "accidental" solutions differ only
in the number of steps they have taken between the data
and the answers. In order to do them full justice I have
arranged the Second Class in sections, according to the
number of steps. The two Kings are fearfully deliberate!
I suppose walking quick, or taking short cuts, is inconsis-
tent with kingly dignity : but really, in reading Theseus'
solution, one almost fancied he was "marking time," and
making no advance at all! The other King will, I hope,
pardon me for having altered "Coal" into "Cole." King
1056 STORIES
Coilus, or Coil, seems to have reigned soon after Arthur's
time. Henry of Huntingdon identifies him with the King
Coel who first built walls round Colchester, which was
named after him. In the Chronicle of Robert of Glouces-
ter we read:
Aftur Kyng Aruirag, of wam we habbeth y told,
Marius ys sone was kyng, quoynte mon & bold.
And ys sone was aftur hym. Coil was ys name,
Bothe it were quoynte men, & of noble fame.
Balbus lays it down as a general principle that "in order
to ascertain the cost of any one luncheon, it must come to
the same amount upon two different assumptions."
{Query, Should not "it" be "we"? Otherwise the luncheon
is represented as wishing to ascertain its own cost!) He
then makes two assumptions — one, that sandwiches cost
nothing; the other, that biscuits cost nothing (either ar-
rangement would lead to the shop being inconveniently
crowded!) — and brings out the unknown luncheons as
8^. and 19^. on each assumption. He then concludes that
this agreement of results "shows that the answers are cor-
rect." Now I propose to disprove his general law by sim-
ply giving one instance of its failing. One instance is
quite enough. In logical language, in order to disprove a
"universal affirmative," it is enough to prove its contra-
dictory, which is a "particular negative." (I must pause
for a digression on Logic, and especially on Ladies' Logic.
The universal affirmative, "Everybody says he's a duck,"
is crushed instantly by proving the particular negative,
"Peter says he's a goose," which is equivalent to "Peter
does not say he's a duck." And the universal negative,
"Nobody calls on her," is well met by the particular af-
firmative, "/ called yesterday." In short, either of two
contradictories disproves the other : and the moral is that,
A TANGLED TALE IO57
since a particular proposition is much more easily proved
that a universal one, it is the wisest course, in arguing
with a lady, to limit one's own assertions to "particulars,"
and leave her to prove the "universal" contradictory, if
she can. You will thus generally secure a logical victory:
a practical victory is not to be hoped for, since she can
always fall back upon the crushing remark, ''That has
nothing to do with it!" — a move for which Man has not
yet discovered any satisfactory answer. Now let us return
to Balbus.) Here is my "particular negative," on which to
test his rule : Suppose the two recorded luncheons to have
been "2 buns, one queen-cake, 2 sausage-rolls, and a bottle
of Zoedone: total, one-and-ninepence," and "one bun, 2
queen-cakes, a sausage-roll, and a bottle of Zoedone : total,
one-and-fourpence." And suppose Clara's unknown
luncheon to have been "3 buns, one queen-cake, one sau-
sage-roll, and 2 bottles of Zoedone": while the two little
sisters had been indulging in "8 buns, 4 queen-cakes, 2
sausage-rolls, and 6 bottles of Zoedone." (Poor souls, how
thirsty they must have been!) If Balbus will kindly try
this by his principle of "two assumptions," first assuming
that a bun is \d, and a queen-cake 2^., and then that a
bun is -T^d. and a queen-cake 3^., he will bring out the
other two luncheons, on each assumption, as "one-and-
ninepence" and "four-and-tenpence" respectively, which
harmony of results, he will say, "shows that the answers
are correct." And yet, as a matter of fact, the buns were id,
each, the queen-cakes 3^., the sausage-rolls 6<i., and the
Zoedone id, a bottle: so that Clara's third luncheon had
cost one-and-sevenpence, and her thirsty friends had
spent four-and-fourpence!
Another remark of Balbus I will quote and discuss : for
I think that it also may yield a moral for some of my
readers. He says, "It is the same thing in substance wheth-
1058 STORIES
er in solving this problem we use words and call it arith-
metic, or use letters and signs and call it algebra." Now
this does not appear to me a correct description o£ the two
methods: the arithmetical method is that of "synthesis"
only ; it goes from one known fact to another, till it reach-
es its goal: whereas the algebraical method is that of
"analysis"; it begins with the goal, symbolically repre-
sented, and so goes backwards, dragging its veiled victim
with it, till it has reached the full daylight of known facts,
in which it can tear of? the veil and say, "I know you!"
Take an illustration : Your house has been broken into
and robbed, and you appeal to the policeman who was on
duty that night. "Well, mum, I did see a chap getting out
over your garden wall : but I was a good bit off, so I didn't
chase him, like. I just cut down the short way to the
'Chequers,' and who should I meet but Bill Sykes, com-
ing full split round the corner. So I just ups and says, *My
lad, you're wanted.' That's all I says. And he says, TU go
along quiet, Bobby,' he says, 'without the darbies,' he
says." There's your Arithmetical policeman. Now try the
other method: "I seed somebody a-running, but he was
well gone or ever / got nigh the place. So I just took a
look round in the garden. And I noticed the footmarks,
where the chap had come right across your flower-beds.
They was good big footmarks sure-ly. And I noticed as
the left foot went down at the heel, ever so much deeper
than the other. And I says to myself, 'The chap's been a
hig hulking chap: and he goes lame on his left foot.' And
I rubs my hand on the wall where he got over, and there
was soot on it, and no mistake. So I says to myself, 'Now
where can I light on a big man, in the chimbley-sweep
line, what's lame of one foot?' And I flashes up permi-
scuous: and I says, 'It's Bill Sykes!' says I." There is your
A TANGLED TALE IO59
Algebraical policeman — a higher intellectual type, to my
thinking, than the other.
Little Jack's solution calls for a word of praise, as he
has written out what really is an algebraical proof in
wordsy without representing any of his facts as equations.
If it is all his own, he will make a good algebraist in the
time to come. I beg to thank Simple Susan for some kind
words of sympathy, to the same effect as those received
from Old Cat.
Hecla and Martreb are the only two who have used a
method certain either to produce the answer, or else to
prove it impossible : so they must share between them the
highest honours.
CLASS LIST
Hecla.
Martreb,
II
§ I (2 steps)
§ 2 (3 steps) — continued
Adelaide.
The Red Queen.
Clifton C. . . ,
Wall-Flower.
E. K. C.
Guy.
§ 3 (4 ^teps)
T /Inconnu.
Hawthorn.
Little Jack.
JoRAM.
Nil Desperandum.
0. 0. Cj.
Simple Susan.
''
Yellow-Hammer.
§ 4 (5 ^t^P^)
Woolly One.
A Stepney Coach.
§ 2 (3 steps)
§ 5 (6 steps)
A. A.
Bay T.aurel.
A Christmas Carol.
Bradshaw of the Future.
I060 STORIES
Afternoon Tea.
An Appreciative School-Ma'am. § 6 (9 steps)
Baby. Old King Cole.
Balbus. § 7 (14 steps)
Bog-Oak. Theseus.
answers to correspondents
I HAVE received several letters on the subjects of Knots II
and VI, which lead me to think some further explanation
desirable.
In Knot II5 1 had intended the numbering of the houses
to begin at one corner of the Square, and this was as-
sumed by most, if not all, of the competitors. Trojanus,
however, says, "Assuming, in default of any information,
that the street enters the square in the middle of each side,
it may be supposed that the numbering begins at a street."
But surely the other is the more natural assumption ?
In Knot VI, the first Problem was, of course a mere jeu
de mots^ whose presence I thought excusable in a series of
Problems whose aim is to entertain rather than to in-
struct : but it has not escaped the contemptuous criticisms
of two of my correspondents, who seem to think that
Apollo is in duty bound to keep his bow always on the
stretch. Neither of them has guessed it: and this is true
human nature. Only the other day — the 31st of Septem-
ber, to be quite exact — I met my old friend Brown, and
gave him a riddle I had just heard. With one great eflfort
of his colossal mind. Brown guessed it. "Right!" said I.
"Ah," said he, "it's very neat — very neat. And it isn't an
answer that would occur to everybody. Very neat indeed."
A few yards farther on, I fell in with Smith, and to him
I propounded the same riddle. He frowned over it for a
minute, and then gave it up. Meekly I faltered out the
A TANGLED TALE I061
answer. "A poor thing, sir!" Smitli growled, as he turned
away. "A very poor thing! I wonder you care to repeat
such rubbish!" Yet Smith's mind is, if oossible, even more
colossal than Brown's.
The second Problem of Knot VI is an example in or-
dinary Double Rule of Three, whose essential feature is
that the result depends on the variation of several ele-
ments, which are so related to it that, if all but one be con-
stant, it varies as that one: hence, if none be constant, it
varies as their product. Thus, for example, the cubical
contents of a rectangular tank vary as its length, if breadth
and depth be constant, and so on; hence, if none be con-
stant, it varies as the product of the length, breadth, and
depth.
When the result is not thus connected with the varying
elements, the problem ceases to be Double Rule of Three
and often becomes one of great complexity.
To illustrate this, let us take two candidates for a prize,
A and 5, who are to compete in French, German, and
Italian :
{a) Let it be laid down that the result is to depend on
their relative knowledge of each subject, so that, whether
their marks, for French, be "i, 2" or "100, 200," the result
will be the same: and let it also be laid down that, if they
get equal marks on 2 papers, the final marks are to have
the same ratio as those of the 3rd paper. This is a case of
ordinary Double Rule of Three. We multiply ^'s 3 marks
together, and do the same for B. Note that, if A gets a
single "zero," his final mark is "zero," even if he gets full
marks for 2 papers while B gets only one mark for each
paper. This of course would be very unfair on Ay though
a correct solution under the given conditions.
{b) The result is to depend, as before, on relative
knowledge; but French is to have twice as much weight as
I062 STORIES
German or Italian. This is an unusual form o£ question. 1
should be inclined to say, "The resulting ratio is to be
nearer to the French ratio than if we multiplied as in (a)^
and so much nearer that it would be necessary to use the
other multipliers twice to produce the same result as in
(a)": e, g., if the French ratio were 9/10, and the others
4/9, 1/9, so that the ultimate ratio, by method (a), would
be 3/45, I should multiply instead by 2/3, 1/3, giving the
result, 1/5, which is nearer to 9/10 than if we had used
method (a).
(c) The result is to depend on actual amount of knowl-
edge of the 3 subjects collectively. Here we have to ask
two questions: (i) What is to be the "unit" {i,e, "stand-
ard to measure by") in each subject? (2) Are these units
to be of equal, or unequal, value? The usual "unit" is the
knowledge shown by answering the whole paper correct-
ly; calling this "100," all lower amounts are represented
by numbers between "zero," and "100." Then, if these
units are to be of equal value, we simply add A's 3 marks
together, and do the same for B.
(d) The conditions are the same as (c), but French is
to have double weight. Here we simply double the French
marks, and add as before.
(e) French is to have such weight that, if other marks
be equal, the ultimate ratio is to be that of the French pa-
per, so that a "zero" in this would swamp the candidate:
but the other two subjects are only to affect the result col-
lectively, by the amount of knowledge shown, the two
being reckoned of equal value. Here I should add A's
German and Italian marks together, and multiply by his
French mark.
But I need not go on: the problem may evidently be
set with many varying conditions, each requiring its own
method of solution. The Problem in Knot VI was meant
A TANGLED TALE I063
to belong to variety (a), and to make this clear, I in-
serted the following passage:
"Usually the competitors differ in one point only. Thus,
last year, Fifi and Gogo made the same number of
scarves in the trial week, and they were equally light; but
Fifi's were twice as warm as Gogo's, and she was pro-
nounced twice as good."
What I have said will suffice, I hope, as an answer to
Balbus, who holds that (a) and (c) are the only possible
varieties of the problem, and that to say, "We cannot use
addition, therefore we must be intended to use multipli-
cation," is "no more illogical than, from knowledge that
one was not born in the night, to infer that he was born in
the daytime" ; and also to Fifee, who says, "I think a little
more consideration will show you that our 'error of add-
ing the proportional numbers together for each candidate
instead of multiplying is no error at all." Why, even if
addition had been the right method to use, not one of the
writers (I speak from memory) showed any conscious-
ness of the necessity of fixing a "unit" for each subject.
"No error at all"! They were positively steeped in error!
One correspondent (I do not name him, as the com-
munication is not quite friendly in tone) writes thus: "I
wish to add, very respectfully, that I think it would be in
better taste if you were to abstain from the very trench-
ant expressions which you are accustomed to indulge in
when criticising the answer. That such a tone must not
be" ("be not"?) "agreeable to the persons concerned who
have made mistakes may possibly have no great weight
with you, but I hope you will feel that it would be as well
not to employ it, unless you are quite certain of being
correct yourself T The only instances the writer gives of
the "trenchant expressions" are "hapless" and "malefac-
tors." I beg to assure him (and any others who may need
1064 STORIES
the assurance: I trust there are none) that all such words
have been used in jest, and with no idea that they could
possibly annoy any one, and that I sincerely regret any
annoyance I may have thus inadvertently given. May I
hope that in future they will recognise the distinction be-
tween severe language used in sober earnest, and the
"words o£ unmeant bitterness," which Coleridge has al-
luded to in that lovely passage beginning, "A little child,
a limber elf" ? If the writer will refer to that passage, or to
the Preface to Fire, Famine, and Slaughter, he will find
the distinction, for which I plead, far better drawn out
than I could hope to do in any words of mine.
The writer's insinuation that I care not how much an-
noyance I give to my readers I think it best to pass over in
silence; but to his concluding remark I must entirely de-
mur. I hold that to use language likely to annoy any of
my correspondents would not be in the least justified by
the plea that I was "quite certain of being correct." I trust
that the knot-untiers and I are not on such terms as those!
I beg to thank G. B. for the offer of a puzzle — which,
however, is too like the old one, "Make four 9's into 100."
ANSWERS TO KNOT VIII
§ I. The Pigs
Problem. — Place twenty-four pigs in four sties so that,
as you go round and round, you may always find the
number in each sty nearer to ten than the number in the
last.
Answer, — Place 8 pigs in the first sty, 10 in the second,
nothing in the third, and 6 in the fourth: 10 is nearer ten
than 8; nothing is nearer ten than 10; 6 is nearer ten than
nothing; and 8 is nearer ten than 6.
A TANGLED TALE I065
This problem is noticed by only two correspondents.
Balbus says, "It certainly cannot be solved mathematic-
ally, nor do I see how to solve it by any verbal quibble."
Nolens Volens makes Her Radiancy change the direc-
tion o£ going round; and even then is obliged to add, "the
pig must be carried in front of her"!
§ 2. The Grurmstipths
Problem, — Omnibuses start from a certain point, both
ways, every 15 minutes. A traveller, starting on foot along
with one of them, meets one in i2|/^ minutes: when will
he be overtaken by one ?
Answer, — In 6^4 minutes.
Solution, — Let ''a' be the distance an omnibus goes in
15 minutes, and ''x' the distance from the starting-point to
where the traveller is overtaken. Since the omnibus met is
due at the starting-point in 2^^ minutes, it goes in that
time as far as the traveller walks in i2|/^, i.e,, it goes 5
times as fast. Now the overtaking omnibus is ''a' behind
the traveller when he starts, and therefore goes ''a -\- x'
while he goes ''x." Hence a -f- -^ = 5^/ ^•^- 4-^ = ^^ ^nd
X = - . This distance would be traversed by an omni-
4
bus in — minutes, and therefore by the traveller in 5
X — . Hence he is overtaken in 18 % minutes after
4
starting, i.e. in 6% minutes after meeting the omnibus.
Four answers have been received, of which two are
wrong. Dinah Mite rightly states that the overtaking
omnibus reached the point where they met the other om-
nibus 5 minutes after they left, but wrongly concludes
that, going 5 times as fast, it would overtake them in an-
other minute. The travellers are 5 minutes' walk ahead of
I066 STORIES
the omnibus, and must walk Y^. of this distance farther
before the omnibus overtakes them, which will be 1/5 of
the distance traversed by the omnibus in the same time:
this will require i ^74 minutes more. Nolens Volens tries
it by a process like "Achilles and the Tortoise." He rightly
states that, when the overtaking omnibus leaves the gate,
the travellers are 1/5 of 'V ahead, and that it will take the
omnibus 3 minutes to traverse this distance; "during
which time" the travellers, he tells us, go 1/15 of ''a' (this
should be 1/25). The travellers being now 1/15 of ''a'
ahead, he concludes that the work remaining to be done is
for the travellers to go 1/60 of ''a/' while the omnibus
goes 1/12. The principle is correct, and might have been
applied earlier.
CLASS LIST
I
Balbus. Delta.
ANSWERS to knot IX
. § I. The Buckets
Problem. — Lardner states that a solid, immersed in a
fluid, displaces an amount equal to itself in bulk. How
can this be true of a small bucket floating in a larger one ?
Solution. — Lardner means, by "displaces," "occupies a
space which might be filled with water without any
change in the surroundings." If the portion of the floating
bucket, which is above the water, could be annihilated,
and the rest of it transformed into water, the surrounding
water would not change its position: which agrees with
Lardner's statement.
Five answers have been received, none of which ex-
plains the difficulty arising from the well-known fact that
a floating body is the same weight as the displaced fluid.
A TANGLED TALE I067
Hecla says that "Only that portion of the smaller bucket
which descends below the original level of the water can
be properly said to be immersed, and only an equal bulk
of water is displaced." Hence, according to Hecla, a solid
whose weight was equal to that of an equal bulk of water,
would not float till the whole of it was below "the original
level" of the water : but, as a matter of fact, it would float
as soon as it was all under water. Magpie says the fallacy
is "the assumption that one body can displace another
from a place where it isn't," and that Lardner's assertion
is incorrect, except when the containing vessel "was ori-
ginally full to the brim." But the question of floating de-
pends on the present state of things, not on past history.
Old King Cole takes the same view as Hecla. Tym-
panum and ViNDEx assume that "displaced" means "rais-
ed above its original level," and merely explain how it
comes to pass that the water, so raised, is less in bulk than
the immersed portion of bucket, and thus land themselves
— or rather set themselves floating — in the same boat as
Hecla.
I regret that there is no Class List to publish for this
Problem.
§ 2. Balbus's Essay
Problem. — Balbus states that if a certain solid be im-
mersed in a certain vessel of water, the water will rise
through a series of distances, two inches, one inch, half an
inch, etc., which series has no end. He concludes that the
water will rise without limit. Is this true?
Solution, — No. This series can never reach 4 inches,
since, however many terms we take, we are always short
of 4 inches by an amount equal to the last term taken.
Three answers have been received — but only two seem
to me worthy of honours.
I068 STORIES
Tympanum says that the statement about the stick *'is
merely a bhnd, to which the old answer may well be ap-
plied, solvitur ambulando, or rather tnergendo!' I trust
Tympanum will not test this in his own person, by taking
the place o£ the man in Balbus's Essay! He would infal-
libly be drowned.
Old King Cole rightly points out that the series, 2, i,
etc., is a decreasing geometrical progression: while Vin-
DEx rightly identifies the fallacy as that of "Achilles and
the Tortoise."
CLASS LIST
I
Old King Cole. Vindex.
§ 3. The Garden
Problem. — An oblong garden, half a yard longer than
wide, consists entirely of a gravel walk, spirally arranged,
a yard wide and 3630 yards long. Find the dimensions of
the garden.
Answer, — 60, 6oV2«
Solution, — The number of yards and fractions of a yard
traversed in walking along a straight piece of walk, is
evidently the same as the number of square yards and
fractions of a square yard contained in that piece of walk :
and the distance traversed in passing through a square
yard at a corner, is evidently a yard. Hence the area of the
garden is 3630 square yards : i.e. if x be the width, x {x -\-
Yi) = 3630. Solving this quadratic, we find x = 60.
Hence the dimensions are 60, 60^2-
Twelve answers have been received — seven right and
five wrong. v
C. G. L., Nabob, Old Crow, and Tympanum assume
A TANGLED TALE I069
that the number o£ yards in the length of the path is equal
to the number of square yards in the garden. This is true,
but should have been proved. But each is guilty of darker
deeds. C. G. L.'s "working" consists of dividing 3630 by
60. Whence came this divisor, O Segiel? Divination? Or
was it a dream ? I fear this solution is worth nothing. Old
Crow's is shorter, and so (if possible) worth rather less.
He says the answer "is at once seen to be 60 X 6o^/4'M
Nabob's calculation is short, but "as rich as a Nabob" in
error. He says that the square root of 3630, multiplied by
2, equals the length plus the breadth. That is 60 -25 X ^
= 120 1/4- His first assertion is only true of a square gar-
den. His second is irrelevant, since 60:25 is not the square
root of 3630! Nay, Bob, this will not do! Tympanum says
that, by extracting the square root of 3630, we get 60 yards
with a remainder of 30/60, or half a yard, which we add
so as to make the oblong 60 X 60 5^. This is very terrible:
but worse remains behind. Tympanum proceeds thus:
"But why should there be the half-yard at all? Because
without it there would be no space at all for flowers. By
means of it, we find reserved in the very centre a small
plot of ground, two yards long by half a yard wide, the
only space not occupied by walk." But Balbus expressly
said that the walk "used up the whole of the area." O
Tympanum! My tympa is exhausted: my brain is num! I
can say no more.
Hecla indulges, again and again, in that most fatal of
all habits in computation — the making two mistakes
which cancel each other. She takes x as the width of the
garden, in yards, and x -j- 1^ as its length, and makes her
first "coil" the sum of ;f — Vi^ x — Vi^ x — i, x — i, i.e.
4^ — 3 • but the fourth term should be ;i: — i /4> so that her
first coil is Yz 3. yard too long. Her second coil is the sum
oi X — 2^/4, X — 2V25 x — 3, ;f — 3: here the first term
1070 STORIES
should be ;t: — 2 and the last x — 3I/2 • these two mistakes
cancel and this coil is therefore right. And the same thing
is true of every other coil but the last, which needs an ex-
tra half-yard to reach the end of the path: and this exactly
balances the mistake in the first coil. Thus the sum-total
of the coils comes right though the working is all wrong.
Of the seven who are right, Dinah Mite, Janet, Mag-
pie, and Taffy make the same assumption as C. G. L. and
Co. They then solve by a quadratic. Magpie also tries it by
arithmetical progression, but fails to notice that the first
and last "coils" have special values.
Alumnus Eton^ attempts to prove what C. G. L. as-
sumes by a particular instance, taking a garden 6 by ■'^Yz'
He ought to have proved it generally : what is true of one
number is not always true of others. Old King Cole
solves it by an arithmetical progression. It is right, but too
lengthy to be worth as much as a quadratic.
ViNDEx proves it very neatly, by pointing out that a
yard of walk measured along the middle represents a
square yard of garden, "whether we consider the straight
stretches of walk or the square yards at the angles, in
which the middle line goes half a yard in one direction
and then turns a right angle and goes half a yard in an-
other direction."
CLASS LIST
I
ViNDEX.
II
Alumnus Eton.e. Old King Cole.
Ill
Dinah Mite.
s.
Magpie.
Janet.
Taffy.
A TANGLED TALE IO7I
ANSWERS TO KNOT X
§ I. The Chelsea Pensioners
Problem. — 1£ 70 per cent have lost an eye, 75 per cent an
ear, 80 per cent an arm, 85 per cent a leg : what percentage,
at least, must have lost all four ?
Answer. — Ten.
Solution. — (I adopt that of Polar Star^ as being better
than my own.) Adding the wounds together, we get 70
-f- 75 -|- 80 -|- 85 = 310, among 100 men; which gives 3
to each, and 4 to 10 men. Therefore the least percentage
is 10.
Nineteen answers have been received. One is "5," but,
as no working is given with it, it must, in accordance with
the rule, remain "a deed without a name." Janet makes it
"35 7/10." I am sorry she has misunderstood the question,
and has supposed that those who had lost an ear were 75
per cent 0/ those who had lost an eye; and so on. Of
course, on this supposition, the percentages must all be
multiplied together. This she has done correctly, but I can
give her no honours, as I do not think the question will
fairly bear her interpretation. Three Score and Ten
makes it "19%." Her solution has given me — I will not
say "many anxious days and sleepless nights," for I wish
to be strictly truthful, but — some trouble in making any
sense at all of it. She makes the number of "pensioners
wounded once" to be 310 ("per cent," I suppose!) : divid-
ing by 4, she gets ']"]Vi as "average percentage": again di-
viding by 4, she gets 19% as "percentage wounded four
times." Does she suppose wounds of different kinds to
"absorb" each other, so to speak? Then, no doubt, the data
are equivalent to 77 pensioners with one wound each, and
1072 STORIES
a half-pensioner with a half-wound. And does she then
suppose these concentrated wounds to be transferable, so
that % of these unfortunates can obtain perfect health by
handing over their wounds to the remaining % ? Grant-
ing these suppositions, her answer is right; or rather, //
the question had been, "A road is covered with one inch
of gravel, along 77V2 P^i' cent of it. How much of it could
be covered 4 inches deep with the same material?" her
answer would have been right. But alas, that wasn't the
question! Delta makes some most amazing assumptions:
"let every one who has not lost an eye have lost an ear,"
"let every one who has not lost both eyes and ears have
lost an arm." Her ideas of a battlefield are grim indeed.
Fancy a warrior who would continue fighting after losing
both eyes, both ears, and both arms! This is a case which
she (or "it"?) evidently considers possible.
Next come eight writers who have made the unwar-
rantable assumption that, because 70 per cent have lost an
eye, therefore 30 per cent have not lost one, so that they
have both eyes. This is illogical. If you give me a bag con-
taining 100 sovereigns, and if in an hour I come to you
(my face not beaming with gratitude nearly so much as
when I received the bag) to say, "I am sorry to tell you
that 70 of these sovereigns are bad," do I thereby guaran-
tee the other 30 to be good? Perhaps I have not tested
them yet. The sides of this illogical octagon are as follows,
in alphabetical order: Algernon Bray, Dinah Mite, G.
S. C, Jane E., J. D. W., Magpie (who makes the delight-
ful remark, "Therefore 90 per cent have two of some-
thing," recalling to one's memory that fortunate monarch
with whom Xerxes was so much pleased that "he gave
him ten of everything"!), S. S. G., and Tokio.
Bradshaw of the Future and T. R. do the question in
a piecemeal fashion — on the principle that the 70 per cent
A TANGLED TALE IO73
and the 75 per cent, though commenced at opposite ends
of the 100, must overlap by at least 45 per cent; and so on.
This is quite correct working, but not, I think, quite the
best way of doing it.
The other five competitors will, I hope, feel themselves
sufficiently glorified by being placed in the first class,
without my composing a Triumphal Ode for each!
CLASS LIST
I
Old Cat.
Old Hen.
Polar Star.
Simple Susan.
White Sugar.
II
Bradshaw of the Future.
T. R.
Ill
Algernon Bray.
Dinah Mite.
Gr. S. C
Jane E.
2. Change of Day
J. D. W.
Magpie.
o. o. Cj.
ToKIO.
I must postpone, sine die, the geographical problem —
partly because I have not yet received the statistics I am
hoping for, and partly because I am myself so entirely
puzzled by it; and when an examiner is himself dimly
hovering between a second class and a third, how is he to
decide the position of others?
§ 3. The Sons' Ages
Problem, — At first, two of the ages are together equal
1074 STORIES
to the third. A few years afterwards, two of them are to-
gether double of the third. When the number of years
since the first occasion is two-thirds of the sum of the ages
on that occasion, one age is 21. What are the other two.?
Answer, — 15 and 18.
Solution. — Let the ages at first be x, y, (x -\- y). Now,
if ^ -J" ^ = ^^^ then (a — n) -j- (b — n) = 2(c — n),
whatever be the value of n. Hence the second relationship,
if et/er true, was always true. Hence it was true at first.
But it cannot be true that x and y are together double of
{x -{- y). Hence it must be true of (^ + y), together with
X or y; and it does not matter which we take. We assume,
then, (^ + y) -|- a: =^ 2y; i,e. y = 2x, Hence the three
ages were, at first, x, 2x, ^x; and the number of years since
that time is two-thirds of 6x, i,e. is ^x. Hence the present
ages are 5^^ 6x, yx. The ages are clearly integers, since this
is only "the year when one of my sons comes of age."
Hence yx = 21, ;f = 3, and the other ages are 15, 18.
Eighteen answers have been received. One of the writ-
ers merely asserts that the first occasion was 12 years ago,
that the ages were then 9, 6, and 3; and that on the second
occasion they were 14, 11, and 8! As a Roman father, I
ought to withhold the name of the rash writer; but re-
spect for age makes me break the rule : it is Three Score
AND Ten. Jane E. also asserts that the ages at first were 9,
6, 3: then she calculates the present ages, leaving the sec-
ond occasion unnoticed. Old Hen is nearly as bad; she
"tried various numbers till I found one that fitted all the
conditions" ; but merely scratching up the earth, and peck-
ing about, is not the way to solve a problem, O venerable
bird! And close after Old Hen prowls, with hungry eyes,
Old Cat^ who calmly assumes, to begin with, that the son
A TANGLED TALE IO75
who comes of age is the eldest. Eat your bird. Puss, for
you will get nothing from me!
There are yet two zeroes to dispose of. Minerva as-
sumes that, on every occasion, a son comes of age; and
that it is only such a son who is "tipped with gold." Is it
wise thus to interpret, "Now, my boys, calculate your
ages, and you shall have the money"? Bradshaw of the
Future says "let" the ages at first be 9, 6, 3, then assumes
that the second occasion was 6 years afterwards, and on
these baseless assumptions brings out the right answers.
Guide future travellers, an thou wilt; thou art no Brad-
shaw for this Age!
Of those who win honours, the merely "honourable"
are two. Dinah Mite ascertains (rightly) the relationship
between the three ages at first, but then assumes one of
them to be "6," thus making the rest of her solution tenta-
tive. M. F. C. does the algebra all right up to the conclu-
sion that the present ages are ^z, 6z, and yz; it then as-
sumes, without giving any reason, that 72: = 21.
Of the more honourable. Delta attempts a novelty — to
discover which son comes of age by elimination: it as-
sumes, successively, that it is the middle one, and that it
is the youngest; and in each case it apparently brings out
an absurdity. Still, as the proof contains the following bit
of algebra: "63 = 7:^ -j- 4y/ •*• 21 = ;ir -f- 4/7 of y," I
trust it will admiit that its proof is not quite conclusive.
The rest of its work is good. Magpie betrays the deplor-
able tendency of her tribe — to appropriate any stray con-
clusion she comes across, without having any strict logical
right to it. Assuming A, B, C, as the ages at first, and E
as the number of the years that have elapsed since then,
she finds (rightly) the 3 equations, 2A ^= B, C =: B -\- A,
D = 25. She then says, "Supposing that ^4 == i, then B
= 2, C = 3, and D = 4. Therefore for A, B, C, D, four
1076 STORIES
numbers are wanted which shall be to each other as
1:2:3:4." It is in the "therefore" that I detect the uncon-
scientiousness o£ this bird. The conclusion is true, but this
is only because the equations are "homogeneous" {i.e.
having one "unknown" in each term), a fact which I
strongly suspect had not been grasped — I beg pardon,
clawed — by her. Were I to lay this little pitfall: *'A -\- i
= B, 5 -|- I = C; supposing ^4 = i, then 5 = 2, and
C = 3. Therefore for A, B, C, three numbers are wanted
which shall be to one another as 1:2:3," would you not
flutter down into it, O Magpie! as amiably as a Dove?
Simple Susan is anything but simple to me. After ascer-
taining that the 3 ages at first are as 3 :2 :i, she says, "Then,
as two-thirds of their sum, added to one of them, = 21,
the sum cannot exceed 30, and consequently the highest
cannot exceed 15." I suppose her (mental) argument is
something like this: "Two-thirds of sum, -f- one age, =
21; .:. sum, -(- 3 halves of one age, = 31^. But 3 halves
of one age cannot be less than lYi [here I perceive that
Simple Susan would on no account present a guinea to a
newborn baby!]; hence the sum cannot exceed 30." This
is ingenious, but her proof, after that, is (as she candidly
admits) "clumsy and roundabout." She finds that there
are 5 possible sets of ages, and eliminates four of them.
Suppose that, instead of 5, there had been 5 million pos-
sible sets! Would Simple Susan have courageously order-
ed in the necessary gallon of ink and ream of paper ?
The solution sent in by C. R. is, like that of Simple
Susan, partly tentative, and so does not rise higher than
being Clumsily Right.
Among those who have earned the highest honours,
Algernon Bray solves the problem quite correctly, but
adds that there is nothing to exclude the supposition that
all the ages were fractional. This would make the number
A TANGLED TALE IO77
o£ answers infinite. Let me meekly protest that I never in-
tended my readers to devote the rest o£ their hves to writ-
ing out answers! E. M. Rix points out that, if fractional
ages be admissible, any one of the three sons might be the
one "come of age"; but she rightly rejects this supposition
on the ground that it would make the problem indeter-
minate. White Sugar is the only one who has detected an
oversight of mine: I had forgotten the possibility (which
of course ought to be allowed for) that the son who came
of age that year, need not have done so by that day, so that
he might be only 20. This gives a second solution, viz,^
20, 24, 28. Well said, pure Crystal! Verily, thy "fair dis-
course hath been as sugar"!
CLASS LIST
Algernon Bray.
An Old Fogey.
E. M. Rix.
(jr. O. C
S. S. G.
TOKIO.
T. R.
White Sugar.
C. R.
Delta.
II
Magpie.
Simple Susan.
HI
Dinah Mite.
M. F. C.
I have received more than one remonstrance on my
assertion, in the Chelsea Pensioners' problem, that it was
illogical to assume, from the datum, "70 per cent have
lost an eye," that 30 per cent have not, Algernon Bray
1078 STORIES
States, as a parallel case, "Suppose Tommy's father gives
him 4 apples, and he eats one of them, how many has he
left?" and says, "I think we are justified in answering, 3."
I think so too. There is no "must" here, and data are
evidently meant to fix the answer exactly: but, if the
question were set me, "How many must he have left?"
I should understand the data to be that his father gave
him 4 at leasts but may have given him more.
I take this opportunity of thanking those who have
sent, along with their answers to the Tenth Knot, regrets
that there are no more Knots to come, or petitions that
I should recall my resolution to bring them to an end. I
am most grateful for their kind words; but I think it
ivisest to end what, at best, was but a lame attempt. "The
stretched metre of an antique song" is beyond my com-
pass; and my puppets were neither distinctly in my life
(like those I now address), nor yet (like Alice and the
Mock Turtle) distinctly out of it. Yet let me at least
fancy, as I lay down the pen, that I carry with me into
my silent life, de^r reader, a farewell smile from your un-
seen face, and a kindly farewell pressure from your unfelt
hand! And so, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
that I shall say "good night!" till it be morrow.
\
»»»»»»»>»»»»»»«<««««««««««««
NOVELTY AND ROMANCEMENT
I HAD grave doubts at first whether to call this passage of
my life "A Wail/' or "A Psean," so much does it contain
that is great and glorious, so much that is somber and
stern. Seeking for something which should be a sort of
medium between the two, I decided, at last, on the above
heading — wrongly, of course; I am always wrong: but let
me be calm. It is a characteristic of the true orator never to
yield to a burst of passion at the outset; the mildest of
commonplaces are all he dare indulge in at first, and
thence he mounts gradually ;^-'V/rd'i' acquirit eundo!' Suf-
fice it, then, to say, in the first place, that / am Leopold
Edgar Stubbs. I state this fact distinctly in commencing,
to prevent all chance of the reader's confounding me
either with the eminent shoemaker of that name, of
Pottle-street, Camberwell, or' with my less reputable, but
more widely known, namesake, Stubbs, the light come-
dian, of the Provinces; both which connections I repel
with horror and disdain: no ofifense, however, being in-
tended to either of the individuals named — men whom 1
have never seen, whom I hope I never shall.
So much for commonplaces.
Tell me now, oh! man, wise in interpretation of dreams
and omens, how it chanced that, on a Friday afternoon,
turning suddenly out of Great Wattles-street, I should
come into sudden and disagreeable collision with an hum-
ble individual of unprepossessing exterior, but with an
eye that glowed with all the fire of genius ? I had dreamed
at night that the great idea of my life was to be fulfilled.
What was the great idea of my life.f^ I will tell you. With
shame or sorrow I will tell you.
1079
ig8o stories
My thirst and passion from boyhood (predominating
over the love of taws and running neck and neck with my
appetite for toflfy) has been for poetry — for poetry in its
widest and wildest sense — for poetry untrammeled by the
laws of sense, rhyme, or rhythm, soaring through the uni-
verse, and echoing the music of the spheres! From my
youth, nay, from my very cradle, I have yearned for
poetry, for beauty, for novelty, for romancement. When I
say "yearned," I employ a word mildly expressive of what
may be considered as an outline of my feelings in my
calmer moments: it is about as capable of picturing the
headlong impetuosity of my life-long enthusiasm as those
unanatomical paintings which adorn the outside of the
Adelphi, representing Flexmore in one of the many con-
ceivable attitudes into which the human frame has never
yet been reduced, are of conveying to the speculative pit-
goer a true idea of the feats performed by that extra-
ordinary compound of humanity and Indian-rubber.
I have wandered from the point: that is a peculiarity,
if I may be permitted to say so, incidental to life; and,
as I remarked on an occasion which time will not suflfer
me more fully to specify, "What, after all, is life?" nor
did I find any one of the individuals present (we were
a party of nine, including the waiter, and it was while
the soup was being removed that the above-recorded ob-
servation was made) capable of furnishing me with a
rational answer to the question.
The verses which I wrote at an early period of life
were eminently distinguished by a perfect freedom from
conventionalism, and were thus unsuited to the present
exactions of literature: in a future age they will be read
and admired, "when Milton," as my venerable uncle has
frequently exclaimed, "when Milton and such like are
NOVELTY AND ROMANCEMENT I081
forgot!" Had it not been for this sympathetic relative,
I firmly believe that the poetry of my nature would never
have come out; I can still recall the feelings which thrilled
me when he offered me sixpence for a rhyme to "despot-
ism." I never succeeded, it is true, in finding the rhyme,
but it was on the very next Wednesday that I penned my
well known "Sonnet on a Dead Kitten," and in the
course of a fortnight had commenced three epics, the titles
of which I have unfortunately now forgotten.
Seven volumes of poetry have I given to an ungrateful
world during my life; they have all shared the fate of
true genius — obscurity and contempt. Not that any fault
could be found with their contents; whatever their defi-
ciencies may have been, no reviewer has yet dared to
criticise them. This is a great fact.
The only composition of mine which has yet made any
noise in the world, was a sonnet I addressed to one of
the Corporation of Muggleton-cum-Swillside, on the oc-
casion of his being selected Mayor of that town. It was
largely circulated through private hands, and much talked
of at the time; and though the subject of it, with char-
acteristic vulgarity of mind, failed to appreciate the deli-
cate compliments it involved, and indeed spoke of it
rather disrespectfully than otherwise, I am inclined to
think that it possesses all the elements of greatness. The
concluding couplet was added at the suggestion of a
friend, who assured me it was necessary to complete the
sense, and in this point I deferred to his maturer judg-
ment : —
"When Desolation snatched her tearful prey
From the lorn empire of despairing day;
When all the light, by gemless fancy thrown,
Served but to animate the putrid stone;
I082 STORIES
When monarchs, lessening on the wildered sight,
Crumbhngly vanished into utter night;
When murder stalked with thirstier strides abroad,
And redly flashed the never-sated sword;
In such an hour thy greatness had been seen —
That is, if such an hour had ever been —
In such an hour thy praises shall be sung,
If not by mine, by many a worthier tongue;
And thou be gazed upon by wondering men.
When such an hour arrives, but not till then!"
Alfred Tennyson is Poet Laureate, and it is not for
me to dispute his claim to that eminent position; still I
cannot help thinking, that if the Government had only
come forward candidly at the time, and thrown the thing
open to general competition, proposing some subject to
test the powers of the candidate (say "Frampton's Pill
of Health, an Acrostic"), a very different result might
have been arrived at.
But let us return to our muttons (as our noble allies
do most unromantically express themselves), and to the
mechanic of Great Wattles-street. He was coming out of
a small shop — rudely built it was, dilapidated exceed-
ingly, and in its general appearance seedy — what did I
see in all this to inspire a belief that a great epoch in my
existence arrived? Reader, I saw the signboard!
Yes. Upon that rusty signboard, creaking awkwardly
on its one hinge against the moldering wall, was an in-
scription which thrilled me from head to foot with un-
wonted excitement. "Simon Lubkin. Dealer in Romance-
ment." Those were the very words.
It was Friday, the fourth of June, half-past four p.m.
Three times I read that inscription through, and then
took out my pocketbook, and copied it on the spot; the
mechanic regarding me during the whole proceeding
NOVELTY AND ROMANCEMENT I083
with a stare o£ serious and (as I thought at the time)
respectful astonishment.
I stopped that mechanic, and entered into conversation
with him; years of agony since then have gradually
branded that scene upon my writhing heart, and I can
repeat all that passed, word for word.
Did the mechanic (this was my first question) possess
a kindred soul, or did he not?
Mechanic didn't know as he did.
Was he aware (this with thrilling emphasis) of the
meaning of that glorious inscription upon his signboard ?
Bless you, mechanic knew all about that 'ere.
Would mechanic (overlooking the suddenness of the
invitation) object to adjourn to the neighboring public-
house, and there discuss the point more at leisure?
Mechanic would not object to a drain. On the contrary.
(Adjournment accordingly: brandy-and-water for two:
conversation resumed.)
Did the article sell well, especially with the ''mobile
vulgus"?
Mechanic cast a look of good-natured pity on the ques-
tioner; the article sold well, he said, and the vulgars
bought it most.
Why not add "Novelty" to the inscription ? (This was a
critical moment: I trembled as I asked the question.)
Not so bad an idea, mechanic thought: time was, it
might have answered; but time flies, you see.
Was mechanic alone in his glory, or was there any one
else who dealt as largely in the article ?
Mechanic would pound it, there was none.
What was the article employed for? (I brought this
question out with a gasp, excitement almost choking my
utterance.)
1084 STORIES
It would piece a most anything together, mechanic be-
Heved, and make it sohder nor stone.
This was a sentence difficult of interpretation. I thought
it over a little, and then said, doubtfully, "you mean, I
presume, that it serves to connect the broken threads of
human destiny? to invest with a — with a sort of vital
reality the chimerical products of a fertile imagination .f^"
Mechanic's answer was short, and anything but en-
couraging: "mought be — , Fs no scollard, bless you."
At this point conversation certainly began to flag; I was
seriously debating in my own mind whether this could
really be the fulfillment of my life-cherished dream; so
ill did the scene harmonise with my ideas of romance,
and so painfully did I feel my companion's lack of sym-
pathy in the enthusiasm of my nature — an enthusiasm
which has found vent, ere now, in actions which the
thoughtless crowd have too often attributed to mere
eccentricity.
I have risen with the lark — "day's sweet harbinger" —
(once, certainly, if not oftener), with the aid of a patent
alarm, and have gone forth at that unseemly hour, much
to the astonishment of the housemaid cleaning the door
steps, to "brush with hasty steps the dewy lawn," and
have witnessed the golden dawn with eyes yet half-
closed in sleep. (I have always stated to my friends, in
any allusion to the subject, that my raptures at that mo-
ment were such that I have never since ventured to
expose myself to the influence of excitement so dangerous.
In confidence, however, I admit that the reality did not
come up to the idea I had formed of it over night, and
by no means repaid the struggle of getting out of bed
so early.)
I have wandered in the solemn woods at night, and
bent me o'er the moss-grown fountain, to lave in its
NOVELTY AND ROMANCEMENT I085
crystal stream my tangled locks and fevered brow. (What
though I was laid up with a severe cold in consequence,
and that my hair was out o£ curl for a week? Do paltry
considerations such as these, I ask, affect the poetry of
the incident?)
I have thrown open my small, but neatly furnished^
cottage tenement, in the neighborhood of St. John's Wood,
and invited an aged beggar in to "sit by my fire, and
talk the night away." (It was immediately after reading
Goldsmith's "Deserted Village." True it is that he told
me nothing interesting, and that he took the hall-clock
with him when he departed in the morning; still my
uncle has always said that he wishes he had been there,
and that it displayed in me a freshness and greenness of
fancy (or "disposition," I forget which) such as he had
never expected to see.)
I feel that it is incumbent on me to enter more fully
into this latter topic — the personal history of my uncle:
the world will one day learn to revere the talents of that
wonderful man, though a want of funds prevents, at
present, the publication of the great system of philosophy
of which he is the inventor. Meanwhile, out of the mass
of priceless manuscripts which he has bequeathed to an
ungrateful nation, I will venture to select one striking
specimen. And when the day arrives that my poetry is
appreciated by the world at large (distant though it now
appear!) then, I feel assured, shall his genius also receive
its meed of fame!
Among the papers of that respected relative, I find what
appears to have been a leaf torn from some philosophical
work of the day : -the following passage is scored. "Is this
your rose? It is mine. It is yours. Are these your houses?
They are mine. Give to me (of) the bread. She gave him
a box on the ear." Against this occurs a marginal note
I086 STORIES
in my uncle's handwriting: "some call this unconnected
writing: I have my own opinion." This last was a favorite
expression of his, veiling a profundity of ethical acumen
on which it would be vain to speculate; indeed, so uni-
formly simple was the language of this great man, that
no one besides myself ever suspected his possessing more
than the ordinary share of human intellect.
May I, however, venture to express what I believe
would have been my uncle's interpretation of this remark-
able passage? It appears that the writer intended to dis-
tinguish the provinces of Poetry, Real Property, and Per-
sonal Property. The inquirer touches first on flowers, and
with what a gush of generous feeling does the answer
break upon him! "It is mine. It is yours." That is the
beautiful, the true, the good; these are not hampered by
petty consideration of "meum" and "tuum"; these are
the common property of men. (It was with some such
idea as this that I drew up the once celebrated bill, en-
titled "An Act for exempting Pheasants from the opera-
tion of the Game Laws, on the ground of Beauty" — a
bill which would, doubtless, have passed both Houses
in triumph, but that the member who had undertaken
the care of it was unfortunately incarcerated in a Lunatic
Asylum before it had reached the second reading.) En-
couraged by the success of his first question, our inquirer
passes on to "houses" ("Real Property," you will ob-
serve) ; he is here met by the stern, chilling answer, "They
are mine" — none of the liberal sentiment which dictated
the former reply, but in its place a dignified assertion of
the rights of property.
Had this been a genuine Socratic dialogue, and not
merely a modern imitation, the inquirer would have
probably here interrupted with "To me indeed," or, "I,
for my part," or, "But how otherwise.^" or some other of
NOVELTY AND ROMANCEMENT I087
those singular expressions, with which Plato makes his
characters display at once their blind acquiescence in their
instructor's opinions, and their utter inability to express
themselves grammatically. But the writer takes another
line of thought; the bold inquirer, undeterred by the cold-
ness of the last reply, proceeds from questions to demands,
"give me (of) the bread"; and here the conversation
abruptly ceases, but the moral of the whole is pointed
in the narrative: "she gave him a box on the ear." This
is not the philosophy of one individual or nation, the
sentiment is, if I may so say, European; and I am borne
out in this theory by the fact that the book has evidently
been printed in three parallel columns, English, French,
and German.
Such a man was my uncle; and with such a man did
I resolve to confront the suspected mechanic. I appointed
the following morning for an interview, when I would
personally inspect "the article" (I could not bring myself
to utter the beloved word itself). I passed a restless and
feverish night, crushed by a sense of the approaching
crisis.
The hour came at last — the hour of misery and despair;
it always does so, it cannot be put oflf forever; even on
a visit to a dentist, as my childhood can attest with bitter
experience, we are not forever getting there; the fatal
door too surely dawns upon us, and our heart, which for
the last half hour has been gradually sinking lower and
lower, until we almost doubt its existence, vanishes sud-
denly downwards into depths hitherto undreamed of.
And so, I repeat it, the hour came at last.
Standing before that base mechanic's door, with a
throbbing and expectant heart, my eye chanced to fall
once more upon that signboard, once more I perused its
strange inscription. Oh! fatal change! Oh! horror! What
I088 STORIES
do I see ? Have I been deluded by a heated imagination ?
A hideous gap yawns between the N and the C, making
it not one word but two!
And the dream was over.
At the corner of the street I turned to take a sad fond
look at the specter of a phantom hope, I once had held
so dear. "Adieu!" I whispered; this was all the last fare-
well I took, and I leant upon my walking stick and
wiped away a tear. On the following day I entered into
commercial relations with the firm of Dumpy and Spagg,
wholesale dealers in the wine and spirit department.
The signboard yet creaks upon the moldering wal), but
its sound shall make music in these ears nevermore — ah!
nevermore.
s
»»»»»»»»»»»>»»«««««««««««««<
A PHOTOGRAPHER'S DAY OUT
I AM shaken, and sore, and stiflF, and bruised. As I have
told you many times already, I haven't the least idea
how it happened and there is no use in plaguing me with
any more questions about it. 0£ course, if you wish it,
I can read you an extract from my diary, giving a full
account of the events of yesterday, but if you expect to
find any clew to the mystery in that^ I fear you are doomed
to be disappointed.
August 2j, Tuesday, They say that we Photographers
are a blind race at best; that we learn to look at even the
prettiest faces as so much light and shade; that we seldom
admire, and never love. This is a delusion I long to break
through — if I could only find a young lady to photograph,
realizing my ideal of beauty — above all, if her name
should be — (why is it, I wonder, that I dote on the name
Amelia more than any other word in the English lan-
guage?)— I feel sure that I could shake oflf this cold,
philosophic lethargy.
The time has come at last. Only this evening I fell in
with young Harry Glover in the Haymarket — "Tubbs!"
he shouted, slapping me familiarly on the back, "my
Uncle wants you down to-morrow at his Villa, camera
and all!"
"But I don't know your uncle," I replied, with my char-
acteristic caution. (N.B. If I have a virtue, it is quiet,
gentlemanly caution.)
"Never mind, old boy, he knows all about you. You be
off by the early train, and take your whole kit of bottles,
for you'll find lots of faces to uglify, and — "
"Can't go," I said rather gruffly, for the extent of the
1089
1090 »»^ ST OR IRS
job alarmed me, and I wished to cut him short, having
a decided objection to talking slang in the public streets.
"Well, they'll be precious cut up about it, that's all,"
said Harry, with rather a blank face, "and my cousin
Amelia — "
"Don't say another word!" I cried enthusiastically, "I'll
go!" And as my omnibus came by at the moment, I
jumped in and rattled oflf before he had recovered his
astonishment at my change of manner. So it is settled,
and to-morrow I am to see an Amelia, and — oh Destiny,
what hast thou in store for me?
August 2^, Wednesday, — A glorious morning. Packed
in a great hurry, luckily breaking only two bottles and
three glasses in doing so. Arrived at Rosemary Villa as
the party were sitting down to breakfast. Father, mother,
two sons from school, a host of children from the nursery
and the inevitable BABY.
But how shall I describe the daughter? Words are
powerless; nothing but a Tablotype could do it. Her nose
was in beautiful perspective — her mouth wanting per-
haps the least possible foreshortening — but the exquisite
half-tints on the cheek would have blinded one to any
defects, and as to the high light on her chin, it was
(photographically speaking) perfection. Oh! what a pic-
ture she would have made if fate had not — but I am
anticipating-
There«-was a Captain Flanaghan present —
I am aware that the preceding paragraph is slightly
abrupt, but when I reached that point, I remembered
that the idiot actually believed himself engaged to Amelia
{my Amelia!). I choked, and could get no further. His
figure, I am willing to admit, was good: some might
have admired his face; but what is face or figure without
brains ?
A PHOTOGRAPHER S DAY OUT IO9I
My own figure is perhaps a little inclined to the robust;
in stature I am none o£ your miUtary giraffes — but why
should I describe myself? My photograph (done by my-
self) will be sufficient evidence to the world.
The breakfast, no doubt, was good, but I knew not
what I ate^or drank; I lived for Amelia only, and as I
gazed on that peerless brow, those chiseled features, I
clenched my fist in an involuntary transport (upsetting
my coffee-cup in doing so), and mentally exclaimed, **I
will photograph that woman, or perish in the attempt!"
After breakfast the work of the day commenced, which
I will here briefly record.
PICTURE I. — Paterfamilias. This I wanted to try
again, but they all declared it would do very well, and
had "just his usual expression"; though unless his usual
expression was that of a man with a bone in his throat,
endeavoring to alleviate the agony of choking by watch-
ing the end of his nose with both eyes, I must admit that
this was too favorable a statement of the case.
PICTURE 2. — Materfamilias. She told us with a sim-
per, as she sat down, that she "had been very fond of the-
atricals in her youth," and that she "wished to be taken in
a favorite Shakespearean character." What the character
was, after long and anxious thought on the subject, I
have given up as a hopeless mystery, not knowing any
one of his heroines in whom an attitude of such spas-
modic energy could have been combined with a face of
such blank indifference, or who could have been thought
appropriately costumed in a blue silk gown, with a High-
land scarf over one shoulder, a ruffle of Queen Elizabeth's
time round the throat, and a hunting-whip.
PICTURE 3. — 17th sitting. Placed the baby In profile.
After waiting till the usual kicking had subsided, un-
1092 STORIES
covered the lens. The Uttle wretch instantly threw its
head back, luckily only an inch, as it was stopped by the
nurse's nose, establishing the infant's claim to "first blood"
(to use a sporting phrase). This, o£ course, gave two eyes
to the result, something that might be called a nose, and
an unnaturally wide mouth. Called it a full-face accord-
ingly and went on to
PICTURE 4. — The three younger girls, as they would
have appeared, if by any possibility a black dose could
have been administered to each of them at the same mo-
ment, and the three tied together by the hair before the
expression produced by the medicine had subsided from
any of their faces. Of course, I kept this view of the sub-
ject to myself, and merely said that "it reminded me of
a picture of the three Graces," but the sentence ended in
an involuntary groan, which I had the greatest difficulty
in converting into a cough.
PICTURE 5. — This was to have been the great artistic
triumph of the day; a family group, designed by the two
parents, and combining the domestic with the allegorical.
It was intended to represent the baby being crowned with
flowers, by the united efJorts of the children, regulated
by the advice of the father, under the personal superin-
tendence of the mother; and to combine with this the
secondary meaning of "Victory transferring her laurel
crown to Innocence, with Resolution, Independence,
Faith, Hope and Charity, assisting in the graceful task,
while Wisdom looks benignly on, and smiles approval!"
Such, I say, was the intention; the result, to any unpreju-
diced observer, was capable of but one interpretation—
that the baby was in a fit — that the mother (doubtless
under some erroneous notions of the principles of Human
Anatomy), was endeavoring to recover it by bringing
the crown of its head in contact with its chest — that the
A PHOTOGRAPHER S DAY OUT IO93
two boys, seeing no prospect for the infant but immediate
destruction, were tearing out some locks of its hair as
mementos of the fatal event — that two of the girls were
waiting for a chance at the baby's hair, and employing
the time in strangling the third — and that the father, in
despair at the extraordinary conduct of his family, had
stabbed himself, and was feeling for his pencil-case, to
make a memorandum of having done so.
All this time I had no opportunity of asking my Amelia
for a sitting, but during luncheon I succeeded in finding
one, and, after introducing the subject of photographs in
general, I turned to her and said, "before the day is out,
Miss Amelia, I hope to do myself the honor of coming
to you for a negative."
With a sweet smile she replied "certainly, Mr. Tubbs.
There is a cottage near here, that I wish you would try
after luncheon, and when youVe done that, I shall be
at your service."
"Faix! an' I hope she'll give you a decoisive one!"
broke in that awkward Captain Flanaghan, "won't you,
Mely Darlint?" "I trust so. Captain Flanaghan," I inter-
posed with great dignity; but all politeness is w^asted on
that animal; he broke into a great "haw! haw!" and
Amelia and I could hardly refrain from laughing at his
folly. She, however, with ready tact turned it off, saying
to the bear, "come, come. Captain, we mustn't be too
hard on him!" (Hard on me! on me! bless thee, Amelia!)
'The sudden happiness of that moment nearly over-
came me; tears rose to my eyes as I thought, "the wish
of a Life is accomplished! I shall photograph an Amelia!"
Indeed, I almost think I should have gone down on my
knees to thank her, had not the table-cloth interfered
with my so doing, and had I not known what a difficult
position it is to recover from.
1094 STORIES
However, I seized an opportunity toward the close of
the meal to giwc utterance to my overwrought feelings:
turning toward Amelia, who was sitting next to me, I
had just murmured the words, *'there beats in this bosom -
a heart," when a general silence warned me to leave the
sentence unfinished. With the most admirable presence of
mind she said, "some tart, did you say, Mr. Tubbs ? Cap-
tain Flanaghan^ may I trouble you to cut Mr. Tubbs some
of that tart?"
"It's nigh done," said the captain, poking his great
head almost into it, "will I send him the dish, Mely?"
"No, sir!" I interrupted, with a look that ought to have
crushed him, but he only grinned and said, "don't be
modest now, Tubbs, me bhoy, sure there's plenty more
in the larder."
Amelia was looking anxiously at me, so I swallowed
my rage^ — and the tart.
Luncheoa over, after receiving directions by which to
find the cottage, I attached to my camera the hood used
for developing pictures in the open air, placed it over my
shoulder, and set out for the hill which had been pointed
out to me.
My Amelia was sitting in the window working, as I
passed with the machine; the Irish idiot was with her. In
reply to my look of undying affection, she said anxiously,
"I'm sure that's too heavy for you, Mr. Tubbs. Won't
you have a boy to carry it?"
"Or a donkey?" giggled the captain.
I pulled up short, and faced round, feeling that now,
if ever, the dignity of Man, and the liberty of the sub-
ject, must be asserted. To her I merely said, "thanks,
thanks!" kissing my hand as I spoke; then, fixing my
eyes on the idiot at her side, I hissed through my clenched
teeth, ''we shall meet again, Captain!''
A PHOTOGRAPHER S DAY OUT IO95
"Sure, I hope so, Tubbs," said the unconscious block-
head, "sharp six is the dinner hour, mind!" A cold shiver
passed over me; I had made my great ejffort, and had
failed; I shouldered my camera again, and strode
moodily on.
Two steps, and I was myself again; her eyes, I knew,
were upon me, and once more I trod the gravel with an
elastic tread. What mattered to me, in that moment, the
whole tribe o£ captains? should they disturb my equa-
nimity ?
The hill was nearly a mile from the house, and I
reached it tired and breathless. Thoughts of Amelia, how-
ever, bore me up. I selected the best point of view for the
cottage, so as to include a farmer 'and cow in the picture,
cast one fond look toward the distant villa, and, mutter-
ing, "Amelia, 'tis for thee!" removed the lid of the lens;
in I minute and 40 seconds I replaced it: "it is over!" I
cried in uncontrollable excitement, "Amelia, thou art
mme!
Eagerly, tremblingly, I covered my head with the hood,
and commenced the development. Trees rather misty —
well! the wind had blown them about a little; that
wouldn't show much — the farmer? well, he had walked
on a yard or two, and I should be sorry to state how
many arms and legs he appeared with — never mind! call
him a spider, a centipide, anything — the cow? I must,
however reluctantly, confess that the cow had three heads,
and though such an animal may be curious, it is not
picturesque. However, there could be no mistake about
the cottage; its chimneys were all that could be desired,
and, "all things considered," I thought, "Amelia will — "
At this point my soliloquy was interrupted by a tap
on the shoulder, more peremptory than suggestive. I with-
drew myself from the hood, need I say with what quiet
1096 STORIES
dignity? and turned upon the stranger. He was a thick-
built man, vulgar in dress, repulsive in expression, and
carried a straw in his mouth: his companion outdid him
in these peculiarities. "Young man," began the first, "ye're
trespassing here, and ya mun take yourself of?, and no
bones about it." I need hardly say that I took no notice
o£ this remark, but took up the bottle o£ hypo-sulphite
of soda, and proceeded to fix the picture ; he tried to stop
me; I resisted: the negative fell, and was broken. I re-
member nothing further, except that I have an indistinct
notion that I hit somebody.
If you can find anything in what I have just read to
you to account for my present condition, you are wel-
come to do so; but, as I before remarked, all I can tell
you is that I am shaken, and sore, and stiff, and bruised,
and that how I came so I haven't the faintest idea.
V
»»»»»»»»»»»»»>«<««««««««««««
WILHELM VON SCHMITZ
Chapter I
'" 'Twas Ever Thus"
{Old Play)
The sultry glare of noon was already giving place to the
cool of a cloudless evening, and the lulled ocean was
washing against the Pier with a low murmur, suggestive
to poetical minds of the kindred ideas of motion and
lotion, when two travellers might have been seen, by such
as chose to look that way, approaching the secluded town
of Whitby by one of those headlong paths, dignified by
the name of road, which serve as entrances into the place,
and which were originally constructed, it is supposed, on
the somewhat fantastic model of pipes running into a
water-butt. The elder of the two was a sallow and care-
worn man ; his features were adorned with what had been
often at a distance mistaken for a moustache, and were
shaded by a beaver hat, of doubtful age, and of appear-
ance which, if not respectable, was at least venerable. The
younger, in whom the sagacious reader already recognises
the hero of my tale, possessed a form which, once seen,
could scarcely be forgotten: a slight tendency to obesity
proved but a trifling drawback to the manly grace of its
contour, and though the strict laws of beauty might per-
haps have required a somewhat longer pair of legs to
make up the proportion of his figure, and that his eyes
should match rather more exactly than they chanced to
do, yet to those critics who are untrammelled with any
laws of taste, and there are many such, to those who
1097
1098 STORIES
could close their eyes to the faults in his shape, and single
out its beauties, though few were ever found capable of
the task, to those above all who knew and esteemed his
personal character, and believed that the powers of his
mind transcended those of the age he lived in, though
alas! none such has as yet turned up — to those he was a
very Apollo.
What though it had not been wholly false to assert that
too much grease had been applied to his hair, and too
little soap to his hands? that his nose turned too much
up, and his shirt collars too much down ? that his whiskers
had borrowed all the colour from his cheeks, excepting
a little that had run down into his waistcoat ? Such trivial
criticisms were unworthy the notice of any who laid claim
to the envied title of the connoisseur.
He had been christened William, and his father's name
was Smith, but though he had introduced himself to
many of the higher circles in London under the imposing
name of "Mr. Smith, of Yorkshire," he had unfortunately
not attracted so large a share of public notice as he was
confident he merited : some had asked him how far back
he traced his ancestry; others had been mean enough to
hint that his position in society was not entirely unique;
while the sarcastic enquiries of others touching the dor-
mant peerage in his family, to which, it was suggested, he
was about to lay claim, had awakened in the breast of the
noble-spirited youth an ardent longing for that high birth
and connection which an adverse Fortune had denied
him.
Hence he had conceived the notion of that fiction,
which perhaps in his case must be considered merely as
a poetical licence, whereby he passed himself off upon the
world under the sounding appellation which heads this
tale. This step had already occasioned a large increase in
WILHELM VON SCHMITZ IO99
his popularity, a circumstance which his friends spoke of
under the unpoetical simile of a bad sovereign fresh gilt,
but which he himself more pleasantly described as, "...
a violet pale. At length discovered in its mossy dale. And
borne to sit with kings": a destiny for which, as it is
generally believed, violets are not naturally fitted.
The travellers, each buried in his own thoughts, paced
in silence down the steep, save when an unusually sharp
stone, or an unexpected dip in the road, produced one of
those involuntary exclamations of pain, which so trium-
phantly demonstrate the connection between Mind and
Matter. At length the young traveller, rousing himself
with an effort from his painful reverie, broke upon the
meditations of his companion with the unexpected ques-
tion, "Think you she will be much altered in feature? I
trust me not." "Think who?" testily rejoined the other:
then hastily correcting himself, with an exquisite sense
of grammar, he substituted the expressive phrase, "Who's
the she you're after?" "Forget you then," asked the young
man, who was so intensely poetical in soul that he never
spoke in ordinary prose, "forget you the subject we con-
versed on but now? Trust me, she hath dwelt in my
thoughts ever since." "But now!" his friend repeated, in
sarcastic tone, "it is an hour good since you spoke last."
The young man nodded assent; "An hour? true, true. We
were passing Lyth, as I bethink me, and lowly in thine
ear was I murmuring that touching sonnet to the sea I
writ of late, beginning, 'Thou roaring, snoring, heaving,
grieving main which — '" "For pity's sake!" interrupted
the other, and there was real earnestness in that pleading
tone, "don't let us have it all again! I have heard it with
patience once already."
"Thou hast, thou hast," the baffled poet replied: "well
then, she shall again be the topic of my thoughts," and
IIOO STORIES
he frowned and bit his Hp, muttering to himself such
words as cooky, hooky, and crooky, as if he were trying
to find a rhyme to something. And now the pair were
passing near a bridge, and shops were on their left and
water on their right; and from beneath uprose a confused
hubbub of sailors' voices, and, wafted on the landward
breeze, came an aroma, dimly suggestive of salt herring,
and all things from the heaving waters in the harbour to
the light smoke that floated gracefully above the house-
tops, suggested nought but poetry to the mind of the
gifted youth.
Chapter II
"And I, for One"
{Old Play)
''But about she," resumed the man of prose, "what's her
name ? You never told me that yet." A faint flush crossed
the interesting features of the youth; could it be that her
name was unpoetical, and did not consort with his ideas
of the harmony of nature? He spoke reluctantly and in-
distinctly; "Her name," he faintly gasped, "is Sukie."
A long, low whistle was the only reply; thrusting his
hands deep in his pockets, the elder speaker turned away,
while the unhappy youth, whose delicate nerves were
cruelly shaken by his friend's ridicule, grasped the railing
near to him to steady his tottering feet. Distant sounds
of melody from the cliff at this moment reached their
ears, and while his unfeeling comrade wandered in the
direction of the music, the distressed poet hastily sought
the Bridge, to give his pent-up feelings vent, unnoticed
by the passers-by.
The Sun was setting as he reached the spot, and the still
WILHELM VON SCHMITZ HOI
surface of the waters below, as he crossed on to the
Bridge, calmed his perturbed spirit, and sadly leaning his
elbows on the rail, he pondered. What visions filled that
noble soul, as, with features that would have beamed with
intelligence, had they only possessed an expression at all,
and a frown that only needed dignity to be appalling,
he fixed upon the sluggish tide those fine though blood-
shot eyes?
Visions of his early days; scenes from the happy time
of pinafores, treacle, and innocence; through the long
vista of the past came floating spectres of long-forgotten
spelling-books, slates scrawled thick with dreary sums,
that seldom came out at all, and never came out right;
tingling and somewhat painful sensations returned to his
knuckles and the roots of his hair; he was a boy once
more.
"Now, young man there!" so broke a voice upon the
air, "tak whether o' the two roads thou likes, but thou
can't stop in't middle!" The words fell idly on his ears,
or served but to suggest new trains of reverie; "Roads,
aye, roads," he whispered low, and then louder, as the
glorious idea burst upon him, "Aye, and am I not the
Colossus of Rhodes?" he raised his manly form erect at
the thought, and planted his feet with a firmer stride.
. . . Was it but a delusion of his heated brain? or stern
reality? slowly, slowly yawned the bridge beneath him,
and now his footing is already grown unsteady, and now
the dignity of his attitude is gone: he recks not, come
what may; is he not a Colossus?
. . . The stride of a Colossus is possibly equal to any
emergency; the elasticity of fustian is limited: it was at
this critical juncture that "the force of nature could no
, further go," and therefore deserted him, while the force
of gravity began to operate in its stead.
II02 STORIES
In other words, he fell.
And the "Hilda" went slowly on its way, and knew not
that it passed a poet under the Bridge, and guessed not
whose were those two feet, that disappeared through the
eddying waters, kicking with spasmodic energy; and men
pulled into a boat a dripping, panting form, that re-
sembled a drowned rat rather that a Poet; and spoke to it
without awe, and even said, "young feller," and some-
thing about "greenhorn," and laughed; what knew they
of Poetry?
Turn we to other scenes : a long, low room, with high-
backed settees, and a sanded floor : a knot of men drink-
ing and gossiping: a general prevalance of tobacco; a
powerful conviction that spirits existed somewhere: and
she, the fair Sukie herself, gliding airily through the scene,
and bearing in those lily hands — what? Some garland
doubltless, wreathed of the most fragrant flowers that
grow? Some cherished volume, morocco-bound and
golden-clasped, the works immortal of the bard of eld,
whereon she loveth oft to ponder? Possibly, "The Poems
of William Smith," that idol of her aflFections, in two
volumes quarto, published some years agone, whereof one
copy only has as yet been sold, and that he bought him-
self— to give to Sukie. Which of these is it that the beau-
teous maiden carries with such tender care? Alas none:
it is but those two "goes of arf-and-arf, warm without,"
which have just been ordered by the guests in the tap-
room.
In a small parlour hard by, unknown, untended, though
his Sukie was so near, wet, moody, and dishevelled, sat
the youth: the fire had been kindled at his desire, and
before it he was now drying himself, but as "the cheery
blaze. Blithe harbinger of wintry days," to use his own
powerful description, consisted at present of a feeble.
WILHELM VON SCHMITZ IIO3
spluttering faggot, whose only effect was to half-choke
him with its smoke, he may be pardoned for not feeling,
more keenly than he does, that "... fire of Soul, When
gazing on the kindling coal, A Britain feels that, spite of
fone. He wots his native hearth his own!" we again em-
ploy his own thrilling words on the subject.
The waiter, unconscious that a Poet sat before him,
was talking confidingly; he dwelt on various themes, and
still the youth sat heedless, but when at last he spoke of
Sukie, those dull eyes flashed with fire, and cast upon
the speaker a wild glance of scornful defiance, that was
unfortunately wasted, as its object was stirring the fire at
the moment and failed to notice it. "Say, oh say those
words again!" he gasped. "I surely heard thee not aright!"
The waiter looked astonished, but obligingly repeated his
remark, "I were merely a saying, sir, that she's an un-
common clever girl, and as how I were 'oping some day
to hacquire her Hart, if so be that — " He said no more,
for the Poet, with a groan of anguish, had rushed dis-
tractedly from the room.
Chapter III
"Nay, Tis Too Much!"
{Old Play)
Night, solemn night.
On the present occasion the solemnity of night's ap-
proach was rendered far more striking than it is to
dwellers in ordinary towns, by that time-honoured cus-
tom observed by the people of Whitby, of leaving their
streets wholly unlighted: in thus making a stand against
the deplorably swift advance of the tide of progress and
civilisation, they displayed no small share of moral cour-
II04 STORIES
age and independent judgement. Was it for a people o£
sense to adopt every new-fangled invention of the age,
merely because their neighbours did? It might have been
urged, in disparagement of their conduct, that they only
injured themselves by it, and the remark would have been
undeniably true; but it would only have served to exalt, in
the eyes of an admiring nation, their well-earned char-
acter of heroic self-denial and uncompromising fixity of
purpose.
Headlong and desperate, the lovelorn Poet plunged
through the night; now tumbling up against a doorstep,
and now half down in a gutter, but ever onward, onward,
reckless where he went.
In the darkest spot of one of those dark streets (the
nearest lighted shop window being about fifty yards oflf),
chance threw into his way the very man he fled from,
the man whom he hated as a successful rival, and who
had driven him to this pitch of frenzy. The waiter, not
knowing what was the matter, had followed him to see
that he came to no harm, and to bring him back, little
dreaming of the shock that awaited him.
The instant the Poet perceived who it was, all his
pent-up fury broke forth : to rush upon him, to grasp him
by the throat with both hands, to dash him to the ground,
and there to reduce him to the extreme verge of suffoca-
tion— all this was the work of a moment.
"Traitor! villain! malcontent! regicide!" he hissed
through his closed teeth, taking any abusive epithet that
came into his head, without stopping to consider its suit-
ability. "Is it thou? Now shalt thou feel my wrath!" And
doubtless the waiter did experience that singular sensa-
tion, whatever it may have been, for he struggled violent-
ly with his assailant, aad bellowed "murder" the instant
he recovered his breath.
WILHELM VON SCHMITZ IIO5
"Say not so," the Poet sternly answered, as he released
him; "it is thou that murderest me." The waiter gathered
himself up, and began in great surprise, "Why, I never — "
" 'Tis a lie!" the Poet screamed; "she loves thee not! Me,
me alone." "Who ever said she did?" the other asked,
beginning to perceive how matters stood. "Thou! thou
saidst it," was the wild reply, "what, villain ? acquire her
heart? thou never shalt."
The waiter calmly explained himself: "My 'ope were,
Sir, to hacquire her Hart of waiting at table, which she
do perdigious well, sure-ly: seeing that I were thinking
of happlying for to be 'eadwaiter at the 'otel." The Poet's
wrath instantly abated, indeed, he looked rather crest-
fallen than otherwise; "Excuse my violence," he gently
said, "and let us take a friendly glass together." "I agree,"
was the waiter's generous answer, "but man halive, you've
ruinated my coat!"
"Courage," cried our hero gaily, "thou shalt have a new
one anon: aye, and of the best cashmere." "H'm," said the
other, hesitatingly, "wouldn't hany other stuflF — " "I will
not buy thee one of any other stuff," returned the Poet,
gently but decidedly, and the waiter gave up the point.
Arrived once more at the friendly tavern, the Poet
briskly ordered a jorum of Punch, and, on its being fur-
nished, called on his friend for a toast. "I'll give you," said
the waiter, who was of a sentimental turn, however little
he looked like it, "I'll give you — Woman! She doubles
our sorrows and 'alves our joy." The Poet drained his
glass, not caring to correct his companion's mistake, and
at intervals during the evening the same inspiring senti-
ment was repeated. And so the night wore away, and
another jorum of Punch was ordered, and another.
4fr ,U. 4g. 4fc 4t,
^^ w ^T ^P Tf
II06 STORIES
"And now hallow me," said the waiter, attempting for
about the tenth time to rise on his feet and make a speech,
and failing even more signally than he had yet done, "to
give a toast for this 'appy hoccasion. Woman! she doubles
— " but at this moment, probably in illustration of his
favourite theory, he "doubled" himself up, and so effec-
tually, that he instantly vanished under the table.
Occupying that limited sphere of observation, it is con-
jectured that he fell to moralising on human ills in gen-
eral, and their remedies, for a solemn voice was pres-
ently heard to issue from his retreat, proclaiming feelingly
though rather indistinctly, that "when the 'art of man is
hopressed with care — ," here came a pause, as if he wished
to leave the question open to discussion, but as no one
present seemed competent to suggest the proper course
to be taken in that melancholy contingency, he attempted
to supply the deficiency himself with the remarkable
statement "she's hall my fancy painted 'er."
Meanwhile the Poet was sitting, smiling quietly to him-
self, as he sipped his punch: the only notice he took of
his companion's abrupt disappearance was to help him-
self to a fresh glass, and say, "your health!" in a cordial
tone, nodding to where the waiter ought to have been.
He then cried, "hear, hear!" encouragingly, and made an
attempt to thump the table with his fist, but missed it.
He seemed interested in the question regarding the heart
oppressed with care, and winked sagaciously with one eye
two or three times, as if there were a good deal he could
say on that subject, if he chose; but the second quotation
roused him to speech, and he at once broke into the
waiter's subterranean soliloquy with an ecstatic fragment
from the poem he had been just composing:
WILHELM VON SCHMITZ IIO7
"What though the world be cross and crooky?
Of Life's fair flowers the fairest bouquet
I plucked, when I chose theCy my Sukie!
"Say, could'st thou grasp at nothing greater
Than to be wedded to a waiter?
And did'st thou deem thy Schmitz a traitor?
"Nay! the fond waiter was rejected,
And thou, alone, with flower-bedecked head,
Sitting, did'st sing of one expected.
And while the waiter, crazed and silly.
Dreamed he had won that precious lily.
At length he came, thy wished-for Willie.
And then thy music took a new key.
For whether Schmitz be boor or duke, he
Is all in all to faithful Sukie!"
He paused for a reply, but a heavy snoring from be-
neath the table was the only one he got.
«
((
Chapter IV
"Is This the Hend?"
{''Nicholas Nickleby'')
Bathed in the radiance of the newly-risen Sun, the bil-
lows are surging and bristling below the Cliflf, along
which the Poet is thoughtfully wending his way. It may
possibly surprise the reader that he should not ere this
have obtained an interview with his beloved Sukie: he
may ask the reason: he will ask in vain: to record with
rigid accuracy the progress of events is the sole duty of
the historian: were he to go beyond that, and attempt to
dive into the hidden causes of things, the why and the
II08 STORIES
wherefore, he would be trespassing on the province of the
metaphysician.
Presently the Poet reached a small rising ground at the
end of the gravel walk, where he found a seat command-
ing a view of the sea, and here he sunk down wearily.
For a while he gazed dreamily upon the expanse of
ocean, then, struck by a sudden thought, he opened a
small pocket book, and proceeded to correct and complete
his last poem. Slowly to himself he muttered the words
"death — saith — breath," impatiently tapping the ground
with his foot. "Ah, that'll do," he said at last, with an air
of relief, "breath":
"His barque had perished in the storm,
Whirled by its fiery breath
On sunken rocks, his stalwart form
Was doomed to watery death."
"That last line's good," he continued exaltingly, "and on
Coleridge's principle of alliteration, too — W. D., W. D. —
was doomed to watery death."
"Take care," growled a deep voice in his ear, "what
you say will be used in evidence against you — now it's
no use trying that, we've got you tight," this last remark
being caused by the struggles of the Poet, naturally in-
dignant at being unexpectedly collared by two men from
behind.
"He's confessed to it, constable? you heard him?" said
the first speaker (who rejoiced in the euphonious title of
Muggle, and whom it is almost superfluous to introduce
to the reader as the elder traveller of Chapter One) ! "it's
as much as his life is worth."
"I say, stow that — " warmly responded the other;
seems to me the gen'leman was a spouting potry."
"What — what's the matter?" here gasped our unfortu-
WILHELM VON SCHMITZ IIO9
nate hero, who had recovered his breath; "you — Muggle
— what do you mean by it?"
"Mean by it!" blustered his quondam friend, "what do
you mean by it, i£ it comes to that? You're an assassin,
that's what you are! Where's the waiter you had with
you last night? answer me that!"
"The — the waiter?" slowly repeated the Poet, still
stunned by the suddenness of his capture, "why, he's
dr— "
"I knew it!" cried his friend, who was at him in a mo-
ment, and choked up the unfinished word in his throat,
"drowned. Constable! I told you so — and who did it?"
he continued, loosing his grip a moment to obtain an
answer.
The Poet's answer, so far as it could be gathered, (for
it came out in a very fragmentary state, and as it were by
crumbs, in intervals of choking) was the following: "It
was my — my — you'll kill me — fault — I say, fault — I — I —
gave him — you — you're suflfoca — I say — I gave him — " "a
push I suppose," concluded the other, who here "shut
off" the slender supply of breath he had hitherto allowed
his victim "and he fell in: no doubt. I heard some one
had fallen off the Bridge last night," turning to the Con-
stable; "no doubt this unfortunate waiter. Now mark my
words! from this moment I renounce this man as my
friend: don't pity him, constable! don't think of letting
him go to spare my feelings!"
Some convulsive sounds were heard at this moment
from the Poet, which, on attentive consideration, were
found to be "the punch — was — was too much — for him —
quite — it — quite — " "Miserable man!" sternly interposed
Muggle; "can you jest about it? You gave him a punch,
did you? and what then?"
"It quite — quite — upset him," continued the unhappy
mo STORIES
Schmitz, in a sort of rambling soliloquy, which was here
cut short by the impatience of the Constable, and the
party set forth on their return to the town.
But an unexpected character burst upon the scene and
broke into a speech far more remarkable for energetic
delivery than for grammatical accuracy: "I've only just
'erd of it — I were hasleep under table — 'avin' taken more
punch than I could stand — he's as hinnocent as I am —
dead indeed! I'm more alive than you, a precious sight!"
This speech produced various effects on its hearers: the
Constable calmly released his man, the bewildered Mug-
gle muttered "Impossible! conspiracy — perjury — have it
tried at assizes": while the happy Poet rushed into the
arms of his deliverer crying in a broken voice : "No, never
from this hour to part. We'll live and love so true!" a
sentiment which the waiter did not echo with the cordial-
ity that might have been expected.
Later in the day, Wilhelm and Sukie were sitting con-
versing with the waiter and a few friends, when the peni-
tent Muggle suddenly entered the room, placed a folded
paper on the knees of Schmitz, pronounced in a hollow
tone the affecting words "be happy!" vanished, and was
seen no more.
After perusing the paper, Wilhelm rose to his feet; in
the excitement of the moment he was roused into un-
conscious and extempore verse:
"My Sukie! He hath bought, yea, Muggle's self,
Convinced at last of deeds unjust and foul.
The licence of a vacant public-house.
We are licensed here to sell to all,
Spirits, porter, snuff, and ale!"
So we leave him: his after happiness who dare to
doubt? has he not Sukie? and having her, he is content.
^»»»»»»»»»»»»»«««««««««««««^
THE LEGEND OF SCOTLAND
Being a true and terrible report touching the rooms o£
Auckland Castell, called Scotland, and of the things there
endured by Matthew Dixon, ChafJer, and of a certain
Ladye, called Gaunless of some, there apparent, and how
that none durst in these days sleep therein (belike through
fear,) all which things fell out in ye days of Bishop Bee,
of chearfuU memorie, and were writ down by mee in the
Yeere One Thousand Three Hundred and Twenty Five,
in the Month February, on a certayn Tuesday and other
days.
Edgar Cuthwellis.
Now the said Matthew Dixon, having fetched wares
unto that place, my Loords commended the same, and
bade that hee should be entertained for that night, (which
in sooth hee was, supping with a grete Appetite,) and
sleep in a certayn roome of that apartment now called
Scotland — From whence at Midnight hee rushed forth
with so grete a Screem, as awaked all men, and hastily
running into those Passages, and meeting him so screem-
ing, hee presentlie faynted away.
Whereon they hadde hym into my Loorde's parlour,
and with much ado set hym on a Chaire, wherefrom hee
three several times split even to the grounde, to the grete
admiration of all men.
But being stayed with divers Strong Liquors, (and,
chifest, wyth Gin,) he after a whyle gave foorth in a
lamentable tone these following particulars, all which
were presentlie sworn to by nine painful and stout
farmers, who lived hard by, which witness I will heare
orderlie set downe.
Witness of Matthew Dixon, Chaffer, being in my right
mi
III2 STORIES
minde, and more than Fortie Yeeres of Age, though sore
affrighted by reason of Sightes and Sounds in This Castell
endured by mee, as touching the Vision of Scotland, and
the Ghosts, all two of them, therein contayned, and of A
certayn straunge Ladye, and of the lamentable thyngs by
her uttered, with other sad tunes and songs, by her and
by other Ghosts devised, and of the coldness and shakyng
of my Bones (through sore grete feer,) and of other
things very pleasant to knowe, cheefly of a Picture here-
after suddenlie to bee taken, and of what shall befall
thereon, (as trulie foreshowne by Ghosts,) and of Dark-
ness, with other things more terrible than Woordes and
of that which Men call Chimera.
Matthew Dixon, Chaffer, deposeth: "that hee, having
supped well over Night on a Green Goose, a Pasty, and
other Condiments of the Bishop's grete bountie provided,
(looking, as he spake, at my Loorde^ and essaying toe
pull offe hys hatte untoe hym, but missed soe doing, for
that hee hadde yt not on hys hedde,) soe went untoe
hys bedde, where of a long tyme hee was exercysed with
sharp and horrible Dreems. That hee saw yn hys Dreem
a young Ladye, habited, not (as yt seemed) yn a Gaun,
but yn a certayn sorte of Wrapper, perchance a Wrap-
Rascal." (Hereon, a Mayde of tHe House affirmed'that noe
Ladye woold weare- such a thing, and hee answered, "I
stand corrected," and indeed rose from hys chaire, yet
fayled to stand.)
Witness continued: "that ye sayde Ladye waved toe
and froe a Grete Torche, whereat a thin Voyce shreeked
'Gaunless! Gaunless!' and Shee standyng yn the midst of
the floor, a grete Chaunge befell her, her Countenance
waxing ever more and more Aged, and her Hayr grayer,
shee all that tyme saying yn a most sad Voyce, 'Gaunless,
now, as Ladyes bee : yet yn yeeres toe come they shall not
THE LEGEND OF SCOTLAND III3
lacke for Gauns.' At whych her Wrapper seemed slowlie
toe melte, chaunging into a gaun of sylk, which puckered
up and down, yea, and flounced itself out not a lyttle":
(at thys mye Loorde, waxing impatient, smote hym
roundlie onne the hedde, bydding hym finish hys tale
anon.)
Witness continued: "that the sayd Gaun thenne
chaunged ytself into divers fashyons whych shall here-
after bee, loopyng ytself uppe yn thys place and yn that,
soe gyving toe View ane pettycote of a most fiery hue,
even Crimson toe looke upon, at whych dismal and blode-
thirstie sight he both groned and wepte. That at the laste
the skyrt swelled unto a Vastness beyond Man's power
toe tell ayded, (as hee judged,) bye Hoops, Cartwheels,
Balloons, and the lyke, bearing yt uppe within. That yt
fylled alle that Chamber, crushing hym flat untoe hys
bedde, tylle such as she appeared toe depart, fryzzling
hys Hayre with her Torche as she went.
"That hee, awakyng from such Dreems, herd thereon
a Rush, and saw a Light." (Hereon a Mayde interrupted
hym, crying out that there was yndeed a Rush-Light
burning yn that same room, and woulde have sayde more,
but that my Loorde checkt her, and sharplie bade her
stow that', meening thereby, that she shoulde holde her
peece.)
Witness continued: "that being muche aflfrited thereat,
whereby hys Bones were, (as hee sayde,) all of a dramble,
hee essayed to leep from hys bedde, and soe quit. Yet
tarried hee some whyle, not, as might bee thought from
being stout of Harte, but rather of Bodye; whych tyme
she caunted snatches of old lays, as Maister Wil Shake-
speare hath yt."
Hereon my Loorde questioned what lays, bydding hym
syng the same, and saying hee knew but of two lays:
Twas yn Trafalgar's bay wee saw the Frenchmen lay,"
a i
III4 STORIES
and "There wee lay all that day yn the Bay of Biscay-O,"
whych hee forthwyth hummed aloud, yet out of tune, at
whych somme smyled.
Witness continued : "that hee perchaunce coulde chaunt
the sayde lays wyth Music, but unaccompanied hee durst
not." On thys they hadde hym to the Schoolroom, where
was a Musical Instrument, called a Paean-o-Forty, (mean-
ing that yt hadde forty Notes, and was a Paean or
Triumph or Art,) whereon two young ladyes. Nieces of
my Loorde, that abode there, (lerning, as they deemed,
Lessons; but, I wot, idlynge not a lyttle,) did wyth much
thumpyng playe certyn Music wyth hys synging, as best
they mighte, seeing that the Tunes were such as noe Man
had herde before.
Lorenzo dwelt at Heighington,
(Hys cote was made of Dimity,)
Least-ways yf not exactly there.
Yet yn yts close proximity.
Hee called on mee — hee stayed to tee —
Yet not a word he ut-tered,
Untyl I sayd, "D'ye lyke your bread
Dry?" and hee answered "But-tered."
(Chorus whereyn all present joyned with fervour.)
Noodle dumb
Has a noodle-head,
I hate such noodles, / do.
Witness continued : "that shee then appeared unto hym
habited yn the same loose Wrapper, whereyn hee first
saw her yn hys Dreem, and yn a stayd and piercing tone
gave forth her History as foUoweth."
The Ladye's History
"On a dewie autumn evening, mighte have been seen,
pacing yn the grounds harde by Aucklande Castell, a
yong Ladye of a stiff and perky manner, yet not ill to
THE LEGEND OF SCOTLAND III5
look on, nay, one mighte saye, faire to a degree save that
haply that hadde been untrue.
"That yong Ladye, O miserable Man, was I" (whereon
I demanded on what score shee held mee miserable, and
shee replied, yt mattered not.) "I plumed myself yn those
tymes on my exceeding not soe much beauty as loftiness
of Figure, and gretely desired that some Painter might
paint my picture; but they ever were too high, not yn
skyll I trow, but yn charges." (At thys I most humbly
enquired at what charge the then Painters wrought, but
shee loftily affirmed that money-matters were vulgar and
that she knew not, no, nor cared.)
"Now yt chaunced that a certyn Artist, hight Lorenzo,
came toe that Quarter, having wyth hym a merveillous
machine called by men a Chimera (that ys, a fabulous
and wholy incredible thing;) where wyth hee took manie
pictures, each yn a single stroke of Tyme, whiles that a
Man might name 7ohn, the son of Robin' (I asked her,
what might a stroke of Tyme bee, but shee, frowning,
answered not) .
"He yt was that undertook my Picture: yn which I
mainly required one thyng, that yt shoulde bee at full-
length, for yn none other way mighte my Loftiness bee
trulie set forth. Nevertheless, though hee took manie Pic-
tures, yet all fayled yn thys: for some, beginning at the
Hedde reeched not toe the Feet; others, takyng yn the
Feet, yet left out the Hedde; whereof the former were a
grief unto myself, and the latter a Laughing-Stocke unto
others.
"At these thyngs I justly fumed, having at the first
been frendly unto hym (though yn sooth hee was dull),
and oft smote hym gretely on the Eares, rending from
hys Hedde certyn Locks, whereat crying out hee was wont
toe saye that I made hys lyfe a burden untoe hym, whych
thyng I not so much doubted as highlie rejoyced yn.
IIl6 STORIES
"At the last hee counselled thys, that a Picture shoulde
bee made, showing so much skyrt as mighte reasonably
bee gotte yn, and a Notice set below toe thys eflfect: 'Item,
two yards and a Half Ditto, and then the Feet.' Byt thys
no Whit contented mee, and thereon I shut hym ynto the
Cellar, where hee remaned three Weeks, growing dayly
thinner and thinner, till at the last hee floted up and
downe like a Feather.
"Now yt fell at thys tyme, as I questioned hym on a
certyn Day, yf hee woulde nowe take mte at full-length,
and hee replying untoe mee, yn a little moning Voyce,
lyke a Gnat, one chaunced to open the Door : whereat the
Draft bore hym uppe ynto a Cracke of the Cieling, and
I remaned awaytyng hym, holding uppe my Torche, until
such time as I also faded vnto a Ghost, vet stickyng untoe
the Wall."
Then did my Loorde and the Companie haste down yn-
to the Cellar, for to see thys straunge sight, to whych
place when they came, my Loorde bravely drew hys
sword, loudly crying "Death!" (though to whom or what
he explained not) ; then some went yn, but the more part
hung back, urging on those yn front, not soe largely bye
example, as Words of cheer; yet at last all entered, my
Loorde last.
Then they removed from the wall the Casks and other
stuff, and founde the sayd Ghost, dredful toe relate, yet
extant on the Wall, at which horrid sight such screems
were raysed as yn these days are seldom or never herde;
some faynted, others bye large drafts of Beer saved them-
selves from that Extremity, yet were they scarcely alive
for Feer.
Then dyd the Layde speak unto them yn such wise:
"Here I bee, and here I byde,
Till such tyme as yt betyde
That a Ladye of thys place,
THE LEGEND OF SCOTLAND III7
Lyke to mee yn name and face,
(Though my name bee never known,
My initials shall bee shown,)
Shall be fotograffed aright —
Hedde and Feet bee both yn sight —
Then my face shall disappear.
Nor agayn affrite you heer."
Then sayd Matthew Dixon unto her, "Wherefore bold-
est thou uppe that Torche?" to whych shee answered,
■^'Candles Gyve Light": but none understood her.
After thys a thyn Voyce sayd from overhedde :
"Yn the Auckland Castell cellar,
Long, long ago,
I was shut — a brisk young feller —
Woe, woe, ah woe!
To take her at fuU-lengthe
I never hadde the strengthe
Tempore (and soe I tell her)
Practerito!"
(Yn thys Chorus they durst none joyn, seeing that
Latyn w^as untoe them a Tongue unknown.)
"She was hard — oh, she was cruel —
Long, long ago.
Starved mee here — not even gruel —
No, believe mee, no! —
Frae Scotland could I flee,
I'd gie my last bawbee, —
Arrah, bhoys, fair play's a jhewel.
Lave me, darlints, goe!"
Then my Loorde, putting bye hys Sworde, (whych was
layd up thereafter, yn memory of soe grete Bravery,)
bade hys Butler fetch hym presentlie a Vessel of Beer,
whych when yt was brought at hys nod, (nor, as bee
merrily sayd, hys "nod, and Bee, and wreathed smyle,")
bee drank hugelie t-hereof : "for why?" quoth hee, "surely
a Bee ys no longer a Bee, when yt ys Dry."
^ »>»»»»»»»»»»»»««««««««<««««« A
A
A
A
A
n
J
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
A
«
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
V
VII
A Miscellany
1
I
I
i
I
V »»»»»»»>»»»»»»«««««<«««««««« V
'%
»»»»»»»»»»»»>»«««««««««««««'^
THE OFFER OF
THE CLARENDON TRUSTEES
''Accommodated: That is, when a
man is, as they say, accommodat-
ed: or when a man is — being —
whereby — he may be thought to
be accommodated; which is an ex-
cellent thing!'
(Written in 1868 as a letter suggesting, halj-humorously ,
half -seriously , new means for mathematical research,)
«
DEAR SENIOR CENSOR:
In a desultory conversation on a point connected with
the dinner at our high table, you incidentally remarked
to me that lobster-sauce, "though a necessary adjunct to
turbot,^was not entirely wholesome."
It is entirely unwholesome. I never ask for it without
reluctance : I never take a second spoonful without a feel-
ing of apprehension on the subject of possible night-
mare. This naturally brings me to the subject of Mathe-
matics, and of the accommodation provided by the Uni-
versity for carrying on the calculations necessary in that
important branch of Science.
As Members of Convocation are called upon (wheth-
er personally, or, as is less exasperating, by letter) to con-
sider the ojffer of the Clarendon Trustees, as well as every
other subject of human, or inhuman, interest, capable of
consideration, it has occurred to me to suggest for your
consideration how desirable roofed buildings are for car-
rying on mathematical calculations: in fact, the variable
II2I
II22 A MISCELLANY
character of the weather in Oxford renders it highly in-
expedient to attempt much occupation, of a sedentary
nature, in the open air.
Again, it is often impossible for students to carry on
accurate mathematical calculations in close contiguity to
one another, owing to their mutual interference, and a
tendency to general conversation : consequently these pro-
cesses require different rooms in which irrepressible con-
versationalists, who are found to occur in every branch of
Society, might be carefully and permanently fixed.
It may be sufficient for the present to enumerate the
following requisites : others might be added as funds per-
mitted.
A. A very large room for calculating Greatest Com-
mon Measure. To this a small one might be attached for
Least Common Multiple: this, however, might be dis-
pensed with.
^ B. A piece of open ground for keeping Roots and
practicing their extraction : it would be advisable to keep
Square Roots by themselves, as their corners are apt to
damage others.
C. A room for reducing Fractions to their Lowest
Terms. This should be provided with a cellar for keeping
the Lowest Terms when found, which might also be
available to the general body of undergraduates, for the
purpose of "keeping Terms."
D. A large room, which might be darkened, and fit-
ted up with a magic lantern, for the purpose of exhibiting
Circulating Decimals in the act of circulation. This might
also contain cupboards, fitted with glass-doors, for keep-
ing the various Scales of Notation.
E. A narrow strip of ground, railed off and carefully
leveled, for investigating the properties of Asymptotes,
and testing practically whether Parallel Lines meet or
THE NEW METHOD OF EVALUATION II23
not : for this purpose it should reach, to use the expressive
language of Euclid, "ever so far."
This last process, of "continually producing the
Lines," may require centuries or more : but such a period,
though long in the life of an individual, is as nothing in
the life of the University.
As Photography is now very much employed in
recording human expressions, and might possibly be
adapted to Algebraical Expressions, a small photographic
room would be desirable, both for general use and for
representing the various phenomena of Gravity, Disturb-
ance of Equilibrium, Resolution, etc., which affect the
features during severe mathematical operations.
May I trust that you will give your immediate at-
tention to this most important subject?
Believe me.
Sincerely yours,
MATHEMATICUS
February 6, 1868.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»««««««««««««<«
THE NEW METHOD OF
EVALUATION
AS APPLIED TO 11
"little jack HORNER
SAT IN A CORNER
EATING HIS CHRISTMAS PIE."
The problem of evaluating ^ which has engaged the at-
tention of mathematicians from the earliest ages, had,
II24 A MISCELLANY
down to our own time, been considered as purely arith^
metical. It was reserved for this generation to make the
discovery that it is in reaUty a dynamical problem: and
the true value o£ '^ which appeared an ignis jatuus to
our forefathers, has been at last obtained under pressure.
The following are the main data of the problem:
Let U = the University, G = Greek, and P = Profes-
sor. Then GP = Greek Professor ; let this be reduced to
its lowest terms, and call the result J.
Also let W = the work done, T = the Times, p = the
given payment, x = the payment according to T, and S
= the sum required; so that 'lu = S.
The problem is, to obtain a value for tt which shall be
commensurable with W.
In the early treatises on this subject, the mean value as-
signed to ^ will be found to be 40.000000. Later writers
suspected that the decimal point had been accidentally
shifted, and that the proper value was 400.00000: but, as
the details of the process for obtaining it had been lost, no
further progress was made in the subject till our own time,
though several most ingenious methods were tried for
solving the problem.
Of these methods we proceed to give some brief ac-
count. Those chiefly worthy of note appear to be Rational-
ization, the Method of IndiflEerences, Penrhyn's Method,
and the Method of Elimination.
We shall conclude with an account of the great discov-
ery of our own day, the Method of Evaluation under
Pressure.
/. Rationalization
The peculiarity of this process consists in its affecting all
quantities alike with a negative sign. i
To apply it, let H = High Church, and L = Low
I
THE NEW METHOD OF EVALUATION II25
Church, then the geometric mean = "x/HL : call this *'B"
(Broad Church).
Also let X and y represent unknown quantities.
The process now requires the breaking up of U into its
partial factions, and the introduction of certain combina-
tions. Of the two principal factions thus formed, that cor-
responding with P presented no further difficulty, but it
appeared hopeless to rationalize the other.
A reductio ad absurdum was therefore attempted,
and it was asked "why should x not be evaluated?" The
great difficulty now was, to discover y.
Several ingenious substitutions and transformations
were then resorted to, with a view to simplyfying the
equation, and it was at one time asserted, though never
actually proved, that the ys were all on one side. How-
ever, as repeated trials produced the same irrational result,
the process was finally abandoned.
//. The Method of Indifferences
This was a modification of ''the method of finite Differ-
ences," and may be thus briefly described : —
Let E = Essays, and R = Reviews: then the locus of
(E-f-R)) referred to multilinear coordinates, will be
found to be a superficies {i.e.^ a locus possessing length
and breadth, but no depth). Let v = novelty, and assume
(E -f- R) as a function of v.
Taking this superficies as the plane of reference, we
get—
E = R=B
.-. EB = B^ = HL (By the last article)
Multiplying by P, EBP = HPL.
It was now necessary to investigate the locus of EBP:
II26 A MISCELLANY
this was found to be a species of Catenary, called the Pa-
tristic Catenary, which is usually defined as "passing
through origen, and containing many multiple points."
The locus of HPL will be found almost entirely to coin-
cide with this.
Great results were expected from the assumption of
(E + R) as a function of v: but the opponents of this
theorem having actually succeeded in demonstrating that
the t^-element did not even enter into the function, it ap-
peared hopeless to obtain any real value of '^ by this
method.
///. Penrhyns Method
This was an exhaustive process for extracting the value
of X in a series of terms, by repeated divisions. The series
so obtained appeared to be convergent, but the residual
quantity was always negative, which of course made the
process of extraction impossible.
This theorem was originally derived from a radical ser-
ies in Arithmetical Progression: let us denote the series
itself by A.P., and its sum by (A.P.)S. It was found that
the function (A.P.)S. entered into the above process, in
various forms.
The experiment was therefore tried of transforming
(A.P.)S. into a new scale of notation : it had hitherto been,
through a long series of terms, entirely in the senary, in
which scale it had furnished many beautiful expressions :
it was now transferred into the denary.
Under this modification, the process of division was re-
peated, but with the old negative result : the attempt was
therefore abandoned, though not without a hope that fu-
ture mathematicians, by introducing a number of hitherto
undetermined constants, raised to the second degree,
might succeed in obtaining a positive result.
THE NEW METHOD OF EVALUATION II27
IV. Elimination of J
It had long been perceived that the chief obstacle to the
evaluation o£ tu was the presence of J, and in an earlier
age of mathematics J would probably have been referred
to rectangular axes, and divided into two unequal parts —
a process of arbitrary elimination which is now considered
not strictly legitimate.
It was proposed, therefore, to eliminate J by an appeal
to the principle known as ''the permanence of equivalent
formularies' : this, however, failed on application, as J be-
came indeterminate. Some advocates of the process would
have preferred that J should be eliminated in toto. The
classical scholar need hardly be reminded that toto is
the ablative of tumtum, and that this beautiful and ex-
pressive phrase embodied the wish that J should be elimin-
ated by the compulsory religious examination.
It was next proposed to eliminate J by means of a can-
onisant. The chief objection to this process was, that it
would raise J to an inconveniently high power, and would
after all only give an irrational value for tt.
Other processes, which we need not here describe, have
been suggested for the evaluation of '^, One was, that it
should be treated as a given quantity : this theory was sup-
ported by many eminent men, at Cambridge and else-
where; but, on application, J was found to exhibit a nega-
tive sign, which of course made the evaluation impossible.
We now proceed to describe the modern method, which
has been crowned with brilliant and unexpected success,
and which may be defined as
F. Evaluation Under Pressure
Mathematicians had already investigated the locus of
HPL, and had introduced this function into the calcula-
II28 A MISCELLANY
tion, but without effecting the desired evaluation, even
w^hen HPL was transferred to the opposite side of the
equation, with a change of sign. The process we are about
to describe consists chiefly in the substitution of G for P,
and the apphcation of pressure.
Let the function cp (HGL) be developed into a series,
and let the sum of this be assumed as a perfectly rigid
body, moving in a fixed line; let 'V" be the coefficient of
moral obligation, and 'V the expediency. Also let "F" be
a Force acting equally in all directions, and varying in-
versely as T: let A = Able, and E = Enlightened.
We have now to develop 9 (HGL) by Maclaurin's
Theorem.
The function itself vanishes when the variable vanishes :
i.e.
cp (0)
= 0
9'(o)
C (a 3riine constant)
r (0)
— 2.J.
9" ' (0)
_ 2.3.H
?" " (0)
2.3.4.S
?' " " (0)
— 2.3.4.5.P
<p" " " (0)
2.3.z,.5.6.J
after which the quantities recur in the same order.
The above proof is taken from the learned treatise '^Au-
gusti de fallibilitate historicorum," and occupies an entire
Chapter: the evaluation of t^ is given in the next Chapter.
The author takes occasion to point out several remarkable
properties, possessed by the above series, the existence of
which had hardly been suspected before.
This series is a function both of V* and of e: but, when it
is considered as a body, it will be found that [J^ = o and
that € only remains.
We now have the equation
9 (HGL) ^O + C+J + H + S + P + J.
THE DYNAMICS OF A PARTI-CLE II29
The summation of this gave a minimum value for '^:
this, however, was considered only as a first approxima-
tion, and the process was repeated under pressure EAF,
which gave to "tt a partial maximum value : by continually
increasing EAF, the result was at last obtained.
7u 1= S = 500.00000.
The result differs considerably from the anticipated
value, namely 400.00000: still there can be no doubt that
the process has been correctly performed, and that the
learned world may be congratulated on the final settle-
ment of this most difficult problem.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»;<«««««««««««««
THE DYNAMICS OF A PARTI-CLE
(t >
Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff d out by an article,"
{First printed in 186^ as aii Oxford pamphlet, this article
concerns itself with the then existing political situation^
INTRODUCTION
It was a lovely Autumn evening, and the glorious effects
of chromatic aberration were beginning to show them-
selves in the atmosphere as the earth revolved away from
the great western luminary, when two lines might have
been observed wending their weary way across a plane
superficies. The elder of the two had by long practice ac-
quired the art, so painful to young and impulsive loci, of
lying evenly between his extreme points ; but the younger,
in her girlish impetuosity, was ever longing to diverge and
II3O A MISCELLANY
become an hyperbola or some such romantic and bound-
less curve. They had lived and loved: fate and the inter-
vening superficies had hitherto kept them asunder, but
this was no longer to be : a line had intersected them, mak-
ing the two interior angles together less than two right
angles. It was a moment never to be forgotten, and, as
they journeyed on, a whisper thrilled along the super-
ficies in isochronous waves of sound, "Yes! We shall at
length meet if continually produced!" (Jacobi's Course of
Mathematics, Chap, i.)
We have commenced with the above quotation as a
striking illustration of the advantage of introducing the
human element into the hitherto barren region of Mathe-
matics. Who shall say what germs of romance, hitherto
unobserved, may not underlie the subject? Who can tell
whether the parallelogram, which in our ignorance we
have defined and drawn, and the whole of whose proper-
ties we profess to know, may not be all the while panting
for exterior angles, sympathetic with the interior, or sul-
lenly repining at the fact that it cannot be inscribed in a
circle? What mathematician has ever pondered over an
hyperbola, mangling the unfortunate curve with lines of
intersection here and there, in his efforts to prove some
property that perhaps after all is a mere calumny, who has
not fancied at last that the ill-used locus was spreading
out its asymptotes as a silent rebuke, or winking one
focus at him in contemptuous pity ?
In some such spirit as this we have compiled the fol-
lowing pages. Crude and hasty as they are, they yet ex-
hibit some of the phenomena of light, or "enlightenment,"
considered as a force, more fully than has hitherto been
attempted by other writers.
]une, 1865.
THE DYNAMICS OF A PARTI-CLE II3I
Chapter I
GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS
Definitions
I
Plain Superficiality is the character of a speech, in
which any two points being taken, the speaker is found to
he wholly with regard to those two points.
II
Plain Anger is the inclination of two voters to one
another, who meet together, but whose views are not in
the same direction.
Ill
When a Proctor, meeting another Proctor, makes the
votes on one side equal to those on the other, the feeling
entertained by each side is called right anger.
IV
When two parties, coming together, feel a Right Anger,
each is said to be complementary to the other (though,
strictly speaking, this is very seldom the case).
V
Obtuse Anger is that which is greater than Right
Anger.
Postulates
I
Let It be granted, that a speaker may digress from any
one point to any other point.
II32 A MISCELLANY
II
That a finite argument (i.e. one finished and disposed
of), may be produced to any extent in subsequent debates*
III
That a controversy may be raised about any question,
and at any distance from that question.
Axioms
I
Men who go halves in the same (quart) are (generally)
equal to another.
II
Men who take a double in the same (term) are equal
to anything.
On Voting
The different methods of voting are as follows :
I
Alternando, as in the case of Mr. who voted for
and against Mr. Gladstone, alternate elections.
II
Invertendo, as was done by Mr. who came all the
way from Edinburgh to vote, handed in a blank voting-
paper, and so went home rejoicing.
Ill
CoMPONENDO, as was done by Mr. whose name ap-
peared on both committees at once, whereby he got great
praise from all men, by the space of one day.
IV
DiviDENDO, as in Mr. 's case, who being sorely per-
plexed in his choice of candidates, voted for neither.
^ v
CoNVERTENDo, as was wonderfully exemplified by
THE DYNAMICS OF A PARTI-CLE II33
Messrs. and who held a long and fierce argu-
ment on the election, in which, at the end of two hours,
each had vanquished and converted the other.
VI
Ex iEQUALi IN Proportione Perturbata Seu Inordin-
ATA, as in the election, when the result was for a long time
equalized, and as it were held in the balance, by reason of
those who had first voted on the one side seeking to pair
off with those who had last arrived on the other side, and
those who were last to vote on the one side being kept out
by those who had first arrived on the other side, whereby,
the entry to the Convocation House being blocked up,
men could pass neither in nor out.
On Representation
Magnitudes are algebraically represented by letters,
men by men of letters, and so on. The following are the
principal systems of representation.
1. Cartesian: i.e. by means of "cartes." This system rep-
resents lines well, sometimes too well; but fails in repro
senting points^ particularly good points.
2. Polar: i.e. by means of the 2 poles, "North and
South." This is a very uncertain system of representation,
and one that cannot safely be depended upon.
3. Trilinear: i.e. by means of a line which takes 3 dif-
ferent courses. Such a line is usually expressed by three
letters, as W.E.G.
That the principle of Representation was known to the
ancients is abundantly exemplified by Thucydides, who
tells us that the favorite cry of encouragement during a
trireme race was that touching allusion to Polar Coordi-
nates which is still heard during the races of our own
time, "p 5, p 6, cos 9, they're gaining!"
II34 A MISCELLANY
Chapter II
DYNAMICS OF A PARTICLE
Particles are logically divided according to genius and
SPEECHES.
Genius is the higher classification, and this, combined
with DIFFERENTIA (i.e. difference of opinion), produces
speeches. These again naturally divide themselves into
three heads.
Particles belonging to the great order o£ genius are
called "able" or "enlightened."
Definitions
A SURD is a radical whose meaning cannot be exactly
ascertained. This class comprises a very large number of
particles.
II
Index indicates the degree, or power, to which a par-
ticle is raised. It consists of two letters, placed to the right
of the symbol representing the particle. Thus, "A.A." sig-
nifies the oth degree; "B.A." the ist degree; and so on,
till we reach "M.A." the 2nd degree (the intermediate
letters indicating fractions of a degree) ; the last two us-
ually employed being "R.A." (the reader need hardly be
reminded of that beautiful line in The Princess "Go dress
yourself, Dinah, like a gorgeous R.A.") and "S.A." This
last indicates the 360th degree, and denotes that the par-
ticle in question (which^ is i/yth part of the function
THE DYNAMICS OF A PARTI-CLE II35
E -f- R "Essays and Reviews,") has eflfected a complete
revolution, and that the result = o.
Ill
Moment is the product of the mass into the velocity.
To discuss this subject fully, would lead us too far into
the subject Vis Viva, and we must content ourselves with
mentioning the fact that no moment is ever really lost, by
fully enlightened Particles. It is scarcely necessary to quote
the well-known passage: — "Every moment, that can be
snatched from academical duties, is devoted to furthering
the cause of the popular Chancellor of the Exchequer." —
(Clarendon, History of the Great Rebellion.)
IV
A COUPLE consists of a moving particle, raised to the
degree M.A., and combined with what is technically
called a "better half." The following are the principal
characteristics of a Couple: (i) It may be easily trans-
ferred from point to point. (2) Whatever force of trans-
lation was possessed by the uncombined particle (and this
is often considerable), is wholly lost when the Couple is
formed. (3) The two forces constituting the Couple habit-
ually act in opposite directions.
On Differentiation
The effect of Differentiation on a Particle is very re-
markable, the first Differential being frequently of a
greater value than the original Particle, and the second of
less enlightenment.
For example, let L = "Leader," S = "Saturday," and
then L.S. = "Leader in the Saturday" (a particle of no
assignable value). Differentiating once, we get L.S.D., a
function of great value. Similarly it will be found that, by
II36 A MISCELLANY
taking a second Differential of an enlightened Particle
(i.e. raising it to the Degree D.D.), the enlightenment be-
comes rapidly less. The effect is much increased by the
addition of a C: in this case the enlightenment often van-
ishes altogether, and the Particle becomes conservative.
It should be observed that, whenever the symbol L is
used to denote "Leader," it must be affected with the sign
it : this serves to indicate that its action is sometimes
positive and sometimes negative — some particles of this
class having the property of drawing others after them
(as "a Leader of an army"), and others of repelling them
(as "a leader of the Times").
Propositions
PROP. I. PR.
To find the value of a given Examiner.
Example. A takes in 10 books in the Final Examina-
tion, and gets a 3d Class: B takes in the Examiners, and
gets a 2nd. Find the value of the Examiners in terms of
books. F'ind also their value in terms in which no Exam-
ination is held.
PROP. II. PR.
To estimate Profit and Loss.
Example, Given a Derby Prophet, who has sent 3 differ-
ent winners to 3 different betting-men, and given that
none of the three horses are placed. Find the total Loss in-
curred by the three men (^a) in money, {b) in temper.
Find also the Prophet. Is this latter generally possible.?^
PROP. III. PR.
To estimate the direction of a line.
Example, Prove that the definition of a line, according
THE DYNAMICS OF A PARTI-CLE II37
to Walton, coincides with that of Salmon, only that they
L begin at opposite ends. If such a line be divided by Frost's
P method, find its value according to Price.
PROP. IV. TH.
The end (i.e. "the product of the extremes"), justifies
(i.e. "is equal to" — see Latin "aequus"), the means.
No example is appended to this Proposition, for obvious
reasons.
PROP. V. PR.
To continue a given series.
Example. A and B, who are respectively addicted tO'
Fours and Fives, occupy the same set of rooms, which is
always at Sixes and Sevens. Find the probable amount of
reading done by A and B while the Eights are on.
We proceed to illustrate this hasty sketch of the Dy-
namics of a Parti-cle, by demonstrating the great Propo-
sition on which the whole theory of Representation de-
pends, namely: — "To remove a given Tangent from a
given Circle, and to bring another given Line into con-
tact with it."
To work the following problem algebraically, it is best
to let the circle be represented as referred to its two tan-
gents, i.e. first to WEG, WH, and afterwards to WH,
GH. When this is effected, it will be found most conven-
ient to project WEG to infinity. The process is not given
here in full, since it requires the introduction of many
complicated determinants.
PROP. VI. PR.
To remove a given Tangent from a given Circle, and to
bring another given Line into contact with it.
Let UNIV be a Large Circle, whose center is O (V be-
II38 A MISCELLANY
ing, o£ course, placed at the top), and let WGH be a tri-
angle, two of whose sides, WEG and WH, are in contact
with the circle, while GH (called "the base" by Hberal
mathematicians), is not in contact with it. (See Fig. i.) It
is requried to destroy the contact of WEG, and to bring
GH into contact instead.
Let I be the point of maximum illumination of the
circle, and therefore E the point of maximum enlighten-
ment of the triangle. (E of course varying perversely as
the square of the distance from O.)
Let WH be fixed absolutely, and remain always in con-
tact with the circle, and let the direction of OI be also
fixed.
Now, so long as WEG preserves a perfectly straight
course, GH cannot possibly come into contact with the
circle, but if the force of illumination, acting along OI,
cause it to bend (as in Fig. 2), a partial revolution on the
part of WEG and GH is effected, WEG ceases to touch
the circle, and GH is immediately brought into contact
with it. Q.E.F.
The theory involved in the foregoing Proposition is at
present much controverted, and its supporters are called
upon to show what is the fixed point, or locus standi, on
which they propose to effect the necessary revolution. To
make this clear, we must go to the original Greek, and
remind our readers that the true point or locus standi, is
in this case 'apSt*; (or 'apStc; according to modern usage),
and therefore must not be assigned to WEG. In reply to
this it is urged that, in a matter like the present, a single
word cannot be considered a satisfactory explanation, such
as apS£6)(;.
It should also be observed that the revolution here dis-
cussed is entirely the effect of enlightenment, since parti-
cles, when illuminated to such an extent as actually to
NEW BELFRY OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD II39
become cpco<;, are always found to diverge more or less
widely from each other; though undoubtedly the radical
force of the word is "union" or "friendly feeling." The
reader will find in "Liddell and Scott" a remarkable illus-
tration of this, from which it appears to be an essential
condition that the feeling should be entertained (popaSrjv
and that the particle entertaining it should belong to the
genus axoTOt; and should therefore be, nominally at least,
unenlightened.
»»»»»»»»»>»»»»«««««««««««««<
THE NEW BELFRY
OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD
A MONOGRAPH BY D. C. L.
'^A thing of beauty is a joy forever.''
I. ON THE ETYMOLOGICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF
THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
The word "Belfry" is derived from the French bel^
"beautiful, becoming, meet," and from the German frei^
"free, unfettered, secure, safe." Thus the word is strictly
equivalent to "meatsafe," to which the new Belfry bears
a resemblance so perfect as almost to amount to coin-
cidence.
II. ON THE STYLE OF THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
The style is that which is usually known as "Early De-
based": very early, and remarkably debased.
II4O A MISCELLANY
in. ON THE ORIGIN OF THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
Outsiders have enquired, with a persistence verging on
personahty, and with a recklessness scarcely distinguish-
able from insanity, to whom we are to attribute the first
grand conception of the work. Was it the Treasurer, say
they, who thus strove to force it on an unwilling House ?
Was it a Professor who designed this box, which, whether
with a lid on or not, equally offends the eye? Or was it a
Censor whose weird spells evoked the horrible thing, the
bane of this and of succeeding generations? Until some
reply is given to these and similar questions, they must
and will remain — forever — unanswered!
On this point Rumour has been unusually busy. Some
say that the Governing Body evolved the idea in solemn
conclave — the original motion being to adopt the Tower
of St. Mark's at Venice as a model : and that by a series of
amendments it was reduced at last to a simple cube. Oth-
ers say that the Reader in Chemistry suggested it as a
form of crystal. There are others who affirm that the
Mathematical Lecturer found it in the Eleventh Book of
Euclid. In fact, there is no end to the various myths afloat
on the subject. Most fortunately, we are in possession of
the real story.
The true origin of the design is as follows: we have it
on the very best authority.
The head of the House, and the architect, feeling a
natural wish that their names should be embodied, in
some conspicuous way, among the alterations then in
progress, conceived the beautiful and unique idea of rep-
resenting, by means of a new Belfry, a gigantic copy of a
Greek Lexicon.^ But, before the idea had been reduced to
* The editor confesses to a difficulty here. No sufficient reason has
been adduced why a model of a Greek Lexicon should in any way
■^'embody" the names of the above illustrious individuals.
NEW BELFRY OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD II4I
a working form, business took them both to London for a
few days, and during their absence, somehow {this part of
the business has never been satisfactorily explained) the
whole thing was put into the hands of a wandering archi-
tect, who gave the name of Jeeby. As the poor man is now
incarcerated at Han well, we will not be too hard upon his
memory, but will only say that he professed to have orig-
inated the idea in a moment of inspiration, when idly
contemplating one of those highly colored, and myster-
iously decorated chests which, filled with dried leaves
from gooseberry bushes and quickset hedges, profess to
supply the market with tea of genuine Chinese growth.
Was there not something prophetic in the choice? What
traveller is there, to whose lips, when first he enters the
great educational establishment and gazes on its newest
decoration, the words do not rise unbidden — "Thou tea-
chest"?
It is plain then that Scott, the great architect to whom
the work of restoration has been entrusted, is not respons-
ible for this. He is said to have pronounced it a casus
belli, which (with all deference to the Classical Tutors
of the House, who insist that he meant merely "a case
for a bell") we believe to have been intended as a term of
reproach.
The following lines are attributed to Scott:
"If thou wouldst view the Belfry aright,
Go visit it at the mirk midnight —
For the least hint of open day
Scares the beholder quite away.
When wall and window are black as pitchy
And there's no deciding which is which;
When the dark Hall's uncertain roof
In horror seems to stand aloof;
When corner and corner, alternately,
II42 A MISCELLANY
Is wrought to an odious symmetry;
When distant Thames is heard to sigh
And shudder as he hurries by;
Then go, if it be worth the while,
Then view the Belfry's monstrous pile,
And, home returning, soothly swear
'Tis more than Job himself could bear!' "
< J'
IV. ON THE CHIEF ARCHITECTURAL MERIT OF
THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
Its chief merit is its Simplicity — a Simplicity so pure, so
profound, in a word, so simple^ that no other word will
fitly describe it. The meager outline, and baldness of de-
tail, of the present Chapter, are adopted in humble imita-
tion of this great feature.
V. ON THE OTHER ARCHITECTURAL MERITS OF
THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
The Belfry has no other architectural merits.
VI. ON THE MEANS OF OBTAINING THE BEST VIEWS OF
THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
The visitor may place himself, in the first instance, at the
opposite corner of the Great Quadrangle, and so combine,
in one grand spectacle, the beauties of the North and
West sides of the edifice. He will find that the converg-
ing lines forcibly suggest a vanishing point, and if that
vanishing point should in its turn suggest the thought,
"would that it were on the point of vanishing!" he may
perchance, like the Soldier in the Ballad, "lean upon his
sword" (if he has one: they are not commonly worn by
modern tourists), "and wipe away a tear."
He may then make ^he circuit of the Quadrangle,
drinking in new visions of beauty at every step —
(
NEW BELFRY OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD II43
"Ever charming, ever new,
When will the Belfry tire the view?"
as Dyer sings in his well-known poem, "Grongar Hill" —
and, as he walks along from the Deanery towards the
Hall staircase, and breathes more and more freely as the
Belfry lessens on the view, the delicious sensation of re-
lief, which he will experience when it has finally disap-
peared, will amply repay him for all he will have en-
dured.
The best view of the Belfry is that selected by our Art-
ist for the admirable frontispiece which he has furnished
for the first Volume of the present work.-'^ This view may
be seen, in all its beauty, from the far end of Merton
Meadow. From that point the imposing position (or, more
briefly, the imposition) of the whole structure is thrilling-
ly apparent. There the thoughtful passer-by, with four
right angles on one side of him, and four anglers, who
have no right to be there, on the other, may ponder on
the mutability of human things, or recall the names of
Euclid and Isaac Walton, or smoke, or ride a bicycle, or do
anything that the local authorities will permit.
VII. ON THE IMPETUS GIVEN TO ART IN ENGLAND BY
THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
The idea has spread far and wide, and is rapidly pervad-
ing all branches of manufacture. Already an enterprising
maker of bonnet-boxes is advertising "the Belfry pattern":
two builders of bathing machines at Ramsgate have fol-
lowed his example: one of the great London houses is
supplying "bar-soap" cut in the same striking and sym-
metrical form: and we are credibly informed that Bor-
on further consideration, it was deemed inexpedient to extend
this work beyond the compass of one Volume.
II44 A MISCELLANY
wick's Baking Powder and Thorley's Food for Cattle are
now sold in no other shape.
VIII. ON THE FEELINGS WITH WHICH OLD CH. CH. MEN
REGARD THE NEW BELFRY.
Bitterly bitterly do all old Ch. Ch. men lament this lat-
est lowest development of native taste. "We see the Gov-
erning Body," say they: "Where is the Governing Mind?"
And Echo (exercising a judicious "natural selection" for
which even Darwin would give her credit) answers —
"where?"
At the approaching "Gaudy," when a number of old
Ch. Ch. men will be gathered together, it is proposed, at
the conclusion of the banquet, to present to each guest a
portable model of the new Belfry, tastefully executed in
cheese.
IX. ON THE feelings WITH WHICH RESIDENT CH. CH.
MEN REGARD THE NEW BELFRY.
Who that has seen a Ch. Ch. man conducting his troop
of "lionesses" (so called from the savage and pitiless greed
with which they devour the various sights of Oxford)
through its ancient precincts, that has noticed the con-
vulsive start and ghastly stare that always affect new-
comers when first they come into view of the new Belfry,
that has heard the eager questions with which they assail
their guide as to the how, the why, the what for, and the
how long, of this astounding phenomenon, can have
failed to mark the manly glow which immediately suf-
fuses the cheek of the hapless cicerone?
**Is it the glow of conscious pride —
Of pure ambition gratified —
That seeks to read in other eye
I
i
NEW BELFRY OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD II45
Something of its own ecstasy?
Or wrath, that wordUngs should make fun
Of anything *the House' has done?
Or puzzlement, that seeks in vain
The rigid mystery to explain?
Or is it shame that, knowing not
How to defend or cloak the blot —
The foulest blot on fairest face
That ever marred a noble place —
Burns with the pangs it will not own,
Pangs felt by loyal sons alone?"
X. ON THE LOGICAL TREATMENT OF THE NEW
BELFRY, CH. CH.
The subject has been reduced to three Syllogisms.
The first is in ''Barbara!' It is attributed to the enemies
of the Belfry.
Wooden buildings in the midst of stone-work are bar-
barous;
Plain rectangular forms in the midst of arches and decora-
tions are barbarous;
Ergo, The whole thing is ridiculous and revolting.
The second is in ''Celarent',' and has been most care-
fully composed by the friends of the Belfry.
The Governing Body would conceal this appalling
structure, if they could;
The Governing Body would conceal the feelings of cha-
grin with which they now regard it, if they could;
Ergo, (MS. unfinished.)
The third Syllogism is in ''Festino," and is the joint
composition of the friends and enemies of the Belfry.
II46 A MISCELLANY
To restore the character of Ch. Ch., a tower must be
built;
To build a tower, ten thousand pounds must be raised;
Ergo, No time must be lost.
These three syllogisms have been submitted to the criti-
cism of the Professor of Logic, who writes that "he fan-
cies he can detect some slight want of logical sequence in
the Conclusion of the third." He adds that, according to
his experience of life, when people thus commit a fatal
blunder in child-like confidence that money will be forth-
coming to enable them to set it right, in ten cases out of
nine the money is not forthcoming. This is a large per-
centage.
XI. ON THE DRAMATIC TREATMENT OF
THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
Curtain rises, discovering the Dean, Canons, and Stud-
ents, seated round a table, on which the mad Architect,
fantastically dressed, and wearing a Fool's cap and bells,
is placing a square block of deal.
Dean (as Hamlet). Methinks I see a Bell-tower!
Canons {loo\ing wildly in all directions) . Where, my
good Sir?
Dean. In my mind's eye. {Knocking heard,) Who's
there ?
Fool. A spirit, a spirit; he says his name's poor Tom.
Enter The Great Bell, disguised as a mushroom.
Great Bell. Who gives anything to poor Tom ? whom
the foul fiend hath led through bricks and through mor-
tar, through rope and windlass, through plank and scaf-
fold; that hath torn down his balustrades, and torn up his
terraces ; that hath made him go as a common pedlar, with
NEW BELFRY OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD II47
a wooden box upon his back. Do poor Tom some charity.
Tom's a-cold.
Rafters, and planks, and such small deer,
Shall be Tom's food for many a year.
Censor. I feared it would come to this. '
Dean (as King Lear), The little dons and all, Tutor,
Reader, Lecturer — see, they bark at me!
Censor. His wits begin to unsettle.
Dean (as Hamlet), Do you see yonder box, that's al-
most in shape of a tea-caddy ?
Censor. By its mass, it is like a tea-caddy, indeed.
Dean. Methinks it is like a clothes-horse.
Censor. It is backed like a clothes-horse.
Dean. Or like a tub.
Censor. Very like a tub.
Dean. They fool me to the top of my bent.
Enter from opposite sides The Belfry as Box, and
The Bodley Librarian as Cox.
Librarian. Who are you. Sir ?
Belfry. If it comes to that, Sir, who are you ?
They exchange cards.
Librarian. I should feel obliged to you if you would
accommodate me with a more protuberant Bell-tower,
Mr. B. The one you have now seems to me to consist of
corners only, with nothing whatever in the middle.
Belfry. Anything to accommodate you, Mr. Cox.
(Places jauntily on his head a small model of thet skele-
ton of an umbrella^ upside down.)
Librarian. Ah, tell me — in mercy tell me — have you
such a thing as a redeeming feature, or the least mark of
artistic design, about you?
Belfry. No!
Librarian. Then you are my long-lost door scraper!
II48 A MISCELLANY
They rush into each other s arms.
Enter Treasurer as Ariel. Solemn music,
SONG AND CHORUS
Five fathom square the Belfry frowns;
All its sides of timber made;
Painted all in grays and browns;
Nothing of it that will fade.
Christ Church may admire the change —
Oxford thinks it sad and strange.
Beauty's dead! Let's ring her knell.
Hark! now I hear them — ding-dong, bell.
XIL ON THE FUTURE OF THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
The Belfry has a great Future before it — at least, if it has
not, it has very little to do with Time at all, its Past being
(fortunately for our ancestors) a nonentity, and its Pres-
ent a blank. The advantage of having been born in the
reign of Queen Anne, and of having died in that or the
subsequent reign, has never been so painfully apparent
as it is now.
Credible witnesses assert that, when the bells are rung,
the Belfry must come down. In that case considerable
damage (the process technically described as "pulverisa-
tion") must ensue to the beautiful pillar and roof which
adorn the Hall staircase. But the architect is prepared
even for this emergency. "On the first symptom of deflec-
tion" (he writes from Han well), "let the pillar be care-
fully removed and placed, with its superstruent super-
structure" (we cannot forbear calling attention to this
beautiful phrase), "in the centre of 'Mercury.' There it
will constitute a novel and most unique feature of the
venerable House." s
"Yea, and the Belfry shall serve to generations yet un-
NEW BELFRY OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD II49
born as an aerial Ticket-office," so he cries with his eye in
'' a fine frenzy roUing, "where the Oxford and London
|f Balloon shall call ere it launch forth on its celestial voy-
age— and where expectant passengers shall while away
the time with the latest edition of 'Bell's Life'!"
XIII. ON THE MORAL OF THE NEW BELFRY, CH. CH.
The moral position of Christ Church is undoubtedly im-
proved by it. "We have been attacked, and perhaps not
without reason, on the Bread-and-Butter question," she
remarks to an inattentive World (which heeds her not,
but prates on of Indirect Claims and of anything but in-
direct Claimants), "we have been charged — and, it must
be confessed, in a free and manly tone — with shortcom-
ings in the payment of the Greek Professor, but who shall
say that we are not all 'on the square' now?''
This, however, is not the Moral of the matter. Every
thing has a moral, if you choose to look for it. In Words-
v/orth, a good -half of every poem is devoted to the Moral :
in Byron, a smaller proportion: in Tupper, the whole.
Perhaps the most graceful tribute we can pay to the
genius of the last-named writer, is to entrust to him, as an
old member of Christ Church, the conclusion of this
Monograph.
"Look on the Quadrangle of Christ Church, squarely, for is
it not a Square ?
And a Square recalleth a Cube; and a Cube recalleth the
Belfry;
And the Belfry recalleth a Die, shaken by the hand of the
gambler;
Yet, once thrown, it may not be recalled, being, so to speak,
irrevocable.
There it shall endure for ages, treading hard on the heels
of the Sublime —
II50 A MISCELLANY
For it Is but a step, saith the wise man, from the SubUme
unto the Ridiculous:
And the Simple dwelleth midway between, and shareth
the qualities of either."
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»«««««««««««<««
THE VISION OF THE THREE TS
A THRENODY
Contents
Chapter I
A Conference {held on the Twentieth of March, iSy^)
betwixt an Angler, a Hunter, and a Professor; concern-
ing angling, and the beautifying of Thomas his Quad-
rangle, The Ballad of "The Wandering Burgess!'
Chapter II
A Conference, with one distraught: who discourseth
strangely of many things.
Chapter III
A Conference of the Hunter with a Tutor, whilom the
Angler his eyes be closed in sleep. The Angler awa\ing
relateth his Vision, The Hunter chaunteth ''A Bachan-
alian Ode!*
Chapter I
A Conference betwixt an Angler, a Hunter, and a Pro-
fessor; concerning angling, and the beautifying of
Thomas his Quadrangle, The Ballad of ''The Wan-
dering Burgess!*
THE VISION OF THE THREE T S II5I
PISCATOR, VENATOR
PiscATOR. My honest Scholar, we are now arrived at the
place whereof I spake, and trust me, we shall have good
sport. How say you? Is not this a noble Quadrangle we
see around us? And be not these lawns trimly kept, and
this lake marvellous clear?
Venator. So marvellous clear, good Master, and withal
so brief in compass, that methinks, if any fish of a reason-
able bigness were therein, we must perforce espy it. I fear
me there is none.
Pisc. The less fish, dear Scholar, the greater the skill in
catching of it. Come, let's sit down, and, while we un-
pack the fishing-gear, I'll deliver a few remarks, both as to
the fish to be met with hereabouts, and the properest
method of fishing.
But you are to note first (for, as you are pleased to be
my Scholar, it is but fitting you should imitate my habits
of close observation) that the margin of this lake is so
deftly fashioned that each portion thereof is at one and
the same distance from that tumulus which rises in the
centre.
Ven. O' my word 'tis so! You have indeed a quick eye,
dear Master, and a wondrous readiness of observing.
Pisc. Both may be yours in time, my Scholar, if with
humility and patience you follow me as your model.
Ven. I thank you for that hope, great Master! But ere
you begin your discourse, let me enquire of you one
thing touching this noble Quadrangle. — Is all we see of a
like antiquity ? To be brief, think you that those two tall
archways, that excavation in the parapet, and that quaint
wooden box, belong to the ancient design of the building,
or have men of our day thus sadly disfigured the place ?
Pisc. I doubt not they are new, dear Scholar. For indeed
II52 A MISCELLANY
I was here but a few years since, and saw naught of these
things. But what book is that I see lying by the water's
edge ?
Ven. a book of ancient ballads, and truly I am glad to
see it, as we may herewith beguile the tediousness of the
day, if our sport be poor, or if we grow aweary.
Pisc. This is well thought of. But now to business. And
first I'll tell you somewhat of the fish proper to these
waters. The Commoner kinds we may let pass: for though
some of them be easily Plucked forth from the water, yet
are they so slow, and withal have so little in them, that
they are good for nothing, unless they be crammed up to
the very eyes with such stuffing as comes readiest to hand.
Of these the Stickleback, a mighty slow fish, is chiefest,
and along with him you may reckon the Fluke, and divers
others: all these belong to the "Mullet" genus, and be
good to play, though scarcely worth examination.
I will now say somewhat of the Nobler kinds, and
chiefly of the Gold-fish, which is a species highly thought
of, and much sought after in these parts, not only by men,
but by divers birds, as for example the King-fishers : and
note that wheresoever you shall see those birds assemble,
and but few insects about, there shall you ever find the
Gold-fish most lively and richest in flavour; but whereso-
ever you perceive swarms of a certain gray fly, called the
Dun-fly, there the Gold-fish are ever poorer in quality,
and the King-fishers seldom seen.
A good Perch may sometimes be found hereabouts : but
for a good fat Plaice (which is indeed but a magnified
Perch) you may search these waters in vain. They that
love such dainties must needs betake them to some dis-
tant Sea.
But for the manner of fishing, I would have you note
first that your line be not thicker than an ordinary bell-
THE VISION OF THE THREE T S TI53
rope: for look you, to flog the water, as though you laid
on with a flail, is most preposterous, and will surely scare
the fish. And note further, that your rod must by no
means exceed ten, or at the most twenty, pounds in
weight, for —
Ven. Pardon me, my Master, that I thus break in on so
excellent a discourse, but there now approaches us a Col-
legian, as I guess him to be, from whom we may haply
learn the cause of these novelties we see around us. Is not
that a bone which, ever as he goes, he so cautiously waves
before him ?
Enter professor
Pisc. By his reverend aspect and white hair, I guess him
to be some learned Professor. I give you good day, rev-
erend Sir! If it be not ill manners to ask it, what bone is
that you bear about with you ? It is, methinks, a humerous
whimsy to chuse so strange a companion.
Prof. Your observation. Sir, is both anthrcpolitically
and ambidexterously opportune : for this is indeed a Hu-
merus I carry with me. You are, I doubt not, strangers in
these parts, for else you would surely know that a Pro-
fessor doth ever carry that which most aptly sets forth his
Profession. Thus, the Professor of Uniform Rotation car-
ries with him a wheelbarrow — the Professor of Graduated
Scansion a ladder — and so of the rest.
Ven. It is an inconvenient and, methinks, an ill-advised
custom.
Prof. Trust me. Sir, you are absolutely and amorphol-
ogically mistaken: yet time would fail me to show you
wherein lies your error, for indeed I must now leave you,
being bound for this great performance of music, which
€ven at this distance salutes your ears.
Pisc. Yet, I pray you, do us one courtesy before you go :
II54 A MISCELLANY
and that shall be to resolve a question, whereby my friend
and I are sorely exercised.
Prof. Say on, Sir, and I will e'en answer you to the best
of my poor ability.
Pisc. Briefly, then, we would ask the cause for piercing
the very heart of this fair building with that uncomely
tunnel, which is at once so ill-shaped, so ill-sized, and so
ill-lighted.
Prof. Sir, do you know German?
Pisc. It is my grief. Sir, that I know no other tongue
than mine own.
Prof. Then, Sir, my answer is this, Warum nicht?
Pisc. Alas, Sir, I understand you not.
Prof. The more the pity. For now-a-days, all that is
good comes from the German. Ask our men of science:
they will tell you that any German book must needs sur-
pass an English one. Aye, and even an English book,
worth naught in this its native dress, shall become, when
rendered into German, a valuable contribution to Science!
Ven. Sir, you much amaze me.
Prof. Nay, Sir, I'll amaze you yet more. No learned
man doth now talk, or even so much as cough, save only
in German. The time has been, I doubt not, when an
honest English "Hem!" was held enough, both to clear
the voice and rouse the attention of the company, but
nowadays no man of Science, that setteth any store by his
good name, will cough otherwise than thus, Ach! Euch!
Auch!
Ven. 'Tis wondrous. But, not to stay you further,
wherefore do we see that ghastly gash above us, hacked,
as though by some wanton school-boy, in the parapet ad-
joining the Hall?
Prof. Sir, do you know German?
Ven. Believe me, No.
THE VISION OF THE THREE T S II55
Prof. Then, Sir, I need but ask you this, Wie befinden
Sie Sich?
Ven. I doubt not, Sir, but you are in the right on't.
Pisc. But, Sir, I will by your favour ask you one other
thing, as to that unseemly box that blots the fair heavens
above. Wherefore, in this grand old City, and in so con-
spicuous a place, do men set so hideous a thing?
Prof. Be you mad. Sir? Why this is the very climacteric
and coronal of all our architectural aspirations! In all
Oxford there is naught like it!
Pisc. It joys me much to hear you say so.
Prof. And, trust me, to an earnest mind, the categorical
evolution of the Abstract, ideologically considered, must
infallibly develop itself in the parallelepipedisation of the
Concrete! And so farewell.
Exit Professor
Pisc. He is a learned man, and methinks there is much
that is sound in his reasoning.
Ven. It is all sound, as it seems to me. But how say you?
Shall I read you one of these ballads? Here is one called
"The Wandering Burgess," which (being forsooth a
dumpish ditty) may well suit the ears of us whose eyes
are oppressed with so dire a spectacle.
Pisc. Read on, good Scholar, and I will bait our hooks
the while.
Venator readeth
THE WANDERING BURGESS
Our Willie had been sae lang awa'
Frae bonnie Oxford toon,
The townsfolk they were greeting a'
As they went up and doon.
II56 A MISCELLANY
He hadna been gane a year, a year,
A year but barely ten.
When word came unto Oxford toon.
Our Willie wad come agen.
Willie he stude at Thomas his Gate,
And made a lustie din;
And who so blithe as the gate-porter
To rise and let him in?
"Now enter Willie, now enter Willie,
And look around the place.
And see the pain that we have ta en
Thomas his Quad to grace."
The first look that our Willie cast,
He leuch loud laughters three.
The neist look that our Willie cast
The tear blindit his e'e.
Sae square and stark the Tea-chest frowned
Athwart the upper air.
But when the Trench our Willie saw.
He thocht the Tea-chest fair.
Sae murderous-deep the Trench did gape
The parapet aboon.
But when the Tunnel Willie saw
He loved the Trench eftsoon.
'Twas mirk beneath the tane archway,
'Twas mirk beneath the tither;
Ye wadna ken a man therein.
Though it were your ain dear brither.
He turned him round and round about,
And looked upon the Three;
And dismal grew his countenance.
And drumlie grew his e'e.
THE VISION OF THE THREE T S II57
**What cheer, what cheer, my gallant knight?"
The gate-porter 'gan say.
"Saw ever ye sae fair a sight
As ye have seen this day?"
"Now haud your tongue of your prating, man:
Of your prating now let me be.
For, as Fm a true knight, a fouler sight
Fll never live to see.
"Before Fd be the rufSan dark
Who planned this ghastly show,
Fd serve as secretary's clerk
To Ayrton or to Lowe. .
"Before Fd own the loathly thing
That Christ Church Quad reveals,
Fd serve as shoeblack's underling
To Odger and to Beales!"
Chapter II
A Conference with one distraught: who discourseth
strangely of many things.
PISCATOR^ VENATOR
PiscATOR. 'Tis a marvellous pleasant ballad. But look
you, another Collegian draws near. I wot not of what sta-
tion he is, for indeed his apparel is new to me.
Venator. It is compounded, as I take it, of the diverse
dresses of a jockey, a judge, and a North American In-
dian.
Enter lunatic
Pisc. Sir, may I make bold to ask your name?
LuN. With all my heart. Sir. It is Jeeby, at your service.
II58 A MISCELLANY
Pisc. And wherefore (if I may further trouble you, be-
ing as you see a stranger) do you wear so gaudy, but with-
al so ill-assorted, a garb?
LuN. Why, Sir, I'll tell you. Do you read the Morning
Post?
Pisc. Alas, Sir, I do not.
LuN. 'Tis pity of your life you do not. For, look you,
not to read the Post^ and not to know the newest and
most commended fashions, are but one and the same
thing. And yet this raiment, that I wear, is not the new-
est fashion. No, nor has it ever been, nor will it ever be,
the fashion.
Ven. I can well believe it.
LuN. And therefore 'tis. Sir, that I wear it. 'Tis but a
badge of greatness. My deeds you see around you. Si
monumentum quceris, circumspice! You know Latin.?
Ven. Not I, Sir! It shames me to say it.
LuN. You are then (let me roundly tell you) monstrum
horrendum, injorme, ingens, cui lumen ademptum!
Ven. Sir, you may tell it me roundly — or, if you list,
squarely — or again, triangularly. But if, as you affirm, I
see your deeds around me, I would fain know which they
be.
LuN. Aloft, Sir, stands the first and chief est! That soar-
ing minaret! That gorgeous cupola! That dreamlike ef-
fulgence of —
Ven. That wooden box?
LuN. The same. Sir! 'Tis mine!
Ven. {after a pause). Sir, it is worthy of you.
LuN. Lower now your eyes by a hairsbreadth, and
straight you light upon my second deed. Oh Sir, what toil
of brain, what cudgelling of forehead, what rending of
locks, went to the fashioning of it!
Ven. Mean you that newly-made gap?
THE VISION OF THE THREE T S II59
LuN. I do, Sir. 'Tis mine!
Ven. {after a long pause). What else, Sir? I would
fain know the worst.
LuN. {wildly). It comes, it comes! My third great deed!
Lend, lend your ears — your nose — any feature you can
least conveniently spare! See you those twin doorways?
Tall and narrow they loom upon you — severely simple
their outline — massive the masonry between — black as
midnight the darkness within! Sir, of what do they mind
you?
Ven. Of vaults, Sir, and of charnel-houses.
LuN. This is a goodly fancy, and yet they are not vaults.
N05 Sir, you see before you a Railway Tunnel!
Ven. 'Tis very strange!
LuN. But no less true than strange. Mark me. 'Tis love,
'tis love, that makes the world go round! Society goes
round of itself. In circles. Military society in military cir-
cles. Circles must needs have centres. Military circles mili-
tary centres.
Ven. Sir, I fail to see —
LuN. Lo you, said our Rulers, Oxford shall be a mili-
tary centre! Then the chief est of them (glad in counten-
ance, yet stony, I wot, in heart) so ordered it by his under-
ling (I remember me not his name, yet is he one that can
play a card well, and so serveth meetly the behests of that
mighty one, who played of late in Ireland a game of crib-
bage such as no man, who saw it, may lightly forget);
and then. Sir, this great College, ever loyal and generous,
gave this Quadrangle as a Railway Terminus, whereby
the Troops might come and go. By that Tunnel, Sir, the
line will enter.
Pisc. But, Sir, I see no rails.
LuN. Patience, good Sir! For railing we look to the
Public! The College doth but furnish sleepers.
Il6o A MISCELLANY
Pisc. And the design of that Tunnel is —
LuN. Is mine, Sir! Oh, the fancy! Oh, the wit! Oh, the
rich vein of humour! When came the idea? I'the mirk
midnight. Whence came the idea? From a cheese-scoop!
How came the idea? In a wild dream. Hearken, and I
will tell. Form square, and prepare to receive a canonry!
All the evening long I had seen lobsters marching around
the table in unbroken order. Something sputtered in the
candle — something hopped among the tea-things — some-
thing pulsated, with an ineffable yearning, beneath the
enraptured hearthrug! My heart told me something was
coming — and something came! A voice cried "Cheese-
scoop!" and the Great Thought of my life flashed upon
me! Placing an ancient Stilton cheese, to represent this
venerable Quadrangle, on the chimney-piece, I retired to
the further end of the room, armed only with a cheese-
scoop, and with a dauntless courage awaited the word of
command. Charge, Cheesetaster, charge! On, Stilton, on!
With a yell and a bound I crossed the room, and plunged
my scoop into the very heart of the foe! Once more! An-
other yell — another bound — another cavity scooped out!
The deed was done!
Ven. And yet. Sir, if a cheese-scoop were your guide,
these cavities must needs be circular.
LuN. They were so at the first — but, like the fickle
Moon, my guardian satellite, I change as I go on. Oh, the
rapture. Sir, of that wild moment! And did I reveal the
Mighty Secret! Never, never! Day by day, week by week,
behind a wooden screen, I wrought out that vision of
beauty. The world came and went, and knew not of it.
Oh, the ecstasy, when yesterday the Screen was swept
away, and the Vision was a Reality! I stood by Tom-Gate,
in that triumphal hour, and watched the passers by. They
stopped! They stared!! They started!!! A thrill of envy
THE VISION OF THE THREE t's Ii6i
paled their cheeks! Hoarse inarticulate words o£ delirious
rapture rose to their lips! What withheld me — what, I
ask you candidly, withheld me from leaping upon them,
holding them in a frantic clutch, and yelling in their
ears lis mme, tis mine!
Pisc. Perchance, the thought that —
LuN. You are right, Sir. The thought that there is a
lunatic asylum in the neighbourhood, and that two med-
ical certificates — but I will be calm. The deed is done. Let
us change the subject. Even now a great musical perform-
ance is going on within. Wilt hear it? The Chapter give
it — ha, ha! They give it!
Pisc. Sir, I will very gladly be their guest.
LuN. Then, guest, you have not guessed all! You shall
be bled, Sir, ere you go! 'Tis love, 'tis love, that makes the
hat go round! Stand and deliver! Vivat Regina! No
money returned!
Pisc. How mean you, Sir ?
LuN. I said. Sir, "No money returned!"
Pisc. And / said. Sir, "How mean — "
LuN. Sir, I am with you. You have heard of Bishops'
Charges? Sir, what are Bishops to Chapters? Oh, it goes
to my heart to see these quaint devices! First, sixpence for
use of a doorscraper. Then, fivepence for right of choos-
ing by which archway to approach the door. Then, a poor
threepence for turning of the handle. Then, a shilling a
head for admission, and half-a-crown for every two-head-
ed man. Now this. Sir, is manifestly unjust: for you are to
note that the double of a shilling —
Pisc. I do surmise. Sir, that the case is rare.
LuN. And then. Sir, five shillings each for care of your
umbrella! Hence comes it that each visitor of ready wit
hides his umbrella, ere he enter, either by swallowing it
(which is perilous to the health of the inner man), or by
Il62 A MISCELLANY
running it down within his coat, even from the nape of
the neck, which indeed is the cause of that which you may
have observed in me, namely, a certain stiffness in mine
outward demeanour. Farewell, gentlemen, I go to hear
the music,
Exit Lunatic
Chapter III
A Conference of the Hunter with a Tutor, whilom the
Angler \his eyes be closed in sleep. The Angler awak-
ing relateth his Vision. The Hunter chaunteth ''A
Bacchanalian Ode!'
PISCATOR, VENATOR, TUTOR
Venator. He hath left us, but methinks we are not to
lack company, for look you, another is even now at hand,
gravely apparalled, and bearing upon his head Hoff-
mann's Lexicon in four volumes folio.
PiscATOR. Trust me, this doth symbolize his craft. Good
morrow. Sir. If I rightly interpret these that you bear with
you, you are a teacher in this learned place?
Tutor. I am, Sir, a Tutor, and profess the teaching of
divers unknown tongues.
Pisc. Sir, we are happy to hav« your company, and if it
trouble you not too much, we would gladly ask (as in-
deed we did ask another of your learned body, but under-
stood not his reply) the cause of these new things we see
around us, which indeed are as strange as they are new,
and as unsightly as they are strange.
Tutor. Sir, I will tell you with all my heart. You must
know then (for herein lies the pith of the matter) that the
motto of the Governing Body is this : —
THE VISION OF THE THREE t's I163
''Diruit, cedificat, mutat quadrata rotundis' ; which I
thus briefly expound.
Diruit. "It teareth down," Witness that fair opening
which, Hke a glade in an ancient forest, we have made in
the parapet at the sinistral extremity of the Hall. Even
as a tree is the more admirable when the hewer's axe hath
all but severed its trunk — or as a row of pearly teeth, en-
shrined in ruby lips, are yet the more lovely for the loss of
one — so, believe me, this our fair Quadrangle is but en-
hanced by that which foolish men in mockery call "the
Trench."
/Edificat. ''It buildeth up!' Witness that beauteous Bel-
fry which, in its ethereal grace, seems ready to soar away
even as we gaze upon it! Even as a railway-porter moves
with an unwonted majesty when bearing a portmanteau
on his head — or as I myself (to speak modestly) gain a
new beauty from these massive tomes — or as ocean charms
us most when the rectangular bathing-machine breaks
the monotony of its curving marge — so are we blessed by
the presence of that which an envious world hath dubbed
"the Tea-chest."
Mutat quadrata rotundis, *'It exchangeth square things
for round." Witness that series of square-headed doors
and windows, so beautifully broken in upon by that
double archway! For indeed, though simple (^'simplex
munditiis" as the poet saith) it is matchless in its beauty.
Had those twin archways been greater, they would but
have matched those at the corners of the Quadrangle —
had they been less, they would have copied, with an ab-
ject servility, the doorways around them. In such things,
it is only a vulgar mind that thinks of a match. The sub-
ject is lowe. We seek the Unique, the Eccentric! We
glory in this two-fold excavation, which scoffers speak of
as "the Tunnel."
I164 A MISCELLANY
Ven. Come, Sir, let me ask you a pleasant question-
Why doth the Governing Body chuse for motto so trite a
saying? It is, if I remember me aright, an example of a
rule in the Latin grammar.
Tutor. Sir, if we are not grammatical, we are nothing!
Ven. But for the Belfry, Sir. Sure none can look on it
without an inward shudder?
Tutor. I will not gainsay it. But you are to note that it
is not permanent. This shall serve its time, and a fairer
edifice shall succeed it.
Ven. In good sooth I hope it. Yet for the time being it
doth not, in that it is not permanent, the less disgrace the
place. Drunkenness, Sir, is not permanent, and yet is held
in no good esteem.
Tutor. 'Tis an apt simile.
Ven. And for these matchless arches (as you do most
truly call them) would it not savour of more wholesome
Art, had they matched the doorways, or the gateways ?
Tutor. Sir, do you study the Mathematics ?
Ven. I trust. Sir, I can do the Rule of Three as well as
another : and for Long Division —
Tutor. You must, know, then, that there be three
Means treated of in Mathematics. For there is the Arith-
metic Mean, the Geometric, and the Harmonic. And note
further, that a Man is that which falleth between two
magnitudes. Thus it is, that the entrance you here behold
falleth between the magnitudes of the doorways and the
gateways, and is in truth the Non-harmonic Mean, the
Mean Absolute. But that the Mean, or Middle, is ever the
safer course, we have a notable ensample in Egyptian his-
tory, in which land (as travellers tell us) the Ibis standeth
ever iri the midst of the river Nile, so best to avoid the
onslaught of the ravenous alligators, which infest the
THE VISION OF THE THREE t's I165
banks on either side : from which habit of that wise bird is
derived the ancient maxim ''In medio tutissimus Ibis!'
Ven. But wherefore be they two? Surely one arch were
at once more comely and more convenient?
Tutor. Sir, so long as public approval be won, what
matter for the arch? But that they are two, take this as
sufficient explication — that they are too tall for doorways,
too narrow for gateways; too light without, too dark
within; too plain to be ornamental, and withal too fan-
tastic to be useful. And if this be not enough, you are to
note further that, were it all one arch, it must needs cut
short one of those shafts which grace the Quadrangle on
all sides — and that were a monstrous and unheard-of
thing, in good sooth, look you.
Ven. In good sooth, Sir, if I look, I cannot miss seeing
that there be three such shafts already cut short by door-
ways: so that it hath fair ensample to follow.
Tutor. Then will I take other ground, Sir, and affirm
(for I trust I have not learned Logic in vain) that to cut
short the shaft were a common and vulgar thing to do.
But indeed a single arch, where folk might smoothly
enter in, were wholly adverse to Nature, who formeth
never a mouth without setting a tongue as an obstacle in
the midst thereof.
Ven. Sir, do you tell me that the block of masonry,
between the gateways, was left there of set purpose, to
hinder those that would enter in?
Tutor. Trust me, it was even so; for firstly, we may
thereby more easily control the entering crowds (^'divide
et impera" say the Ancients), and secondly, in this matter
a wise man will ever follow Nature. Thus, in the centre
of a hall-door we usually place an umbrella-stand — in the
midst of a wicket-gate, a milestone — what place so suited
Il66 A MISCELLANY
for a watch-box as the centre of a narrow bridge? — Yea,
and in the most crowded thoroughfare, where the hving
tide flows thickest, there, in the midst of all, the true ideal
architect doth ever plant an obelisk! You may have ob-
served this ?
Ven. {much bewildered), I may have done so, worthy
Sir: and yet, methinks —
Tutor. I must now bid you farewell; for the music,
which I would fain hear, is even now beginning.
Ven. Trust me. Sir, your discourse hath interested me
hugely.
Tutor. Yet it hath, I fear me, somewhat wearied your
friend, who is, as I perceive, in a deep slumber.
Ven. I had partly guessed it, by his loud and continuous
snoring.
Tutor. You had best let him sleep on. He hath, I take
it, a dull fancy, that cannot grasp the Great and the Sub-
lime. And so farewell: I am bound for the music.
Exit Tutor
Ven. I give you good day, good Sir. Awake, my Master!
For the day weareth on, and we have catched no fish.
Pisc. Think not of fish, dear Scholar, but hearken!
Trust me, I have seen such things in my dreams, as words
may hardly compass! Come, Sir, sit down, and I'll unfold
to you, in such poor language as may best suit both my
capacity and the briefness of our time,
THE vision of THE THREE t's
Methought that, in some bygone Age, I stood beside
the waters of Mercury, and saw, reelected on its placid
face, the grand old buildings of the Great Quadrangle:
near me stood one of portly form and courtly mien, with
scarlet gown, and broad-brimmed hat whose strings.
THE VISION OF THE THREE t's I167
wide-fluttering in the breezeless air, at once defied the
laws of gravity and mar\ed the reverend Cardinal! 'Twas
Wolsey's self! I would have spoken, but he raised his hand
and pointed to the cloudless s\y, from whence deep-mut-
tering thunders now began to roll, I listened in wild ter-
ror.
Darkness gathered overhead, and through the gloom
sobbingly down-floated a gigantic Box! With a fearful
crash it settled upon the ancient College, which groaned
beneath it, while a mocking voice cried ''Ha! Ha!'' I
loo\ed for Wolsey: he was gone. Down in those glassy
depths lay the stalwart form, with scarlet mantle grandly
wrapped around it: the broad-brimmed hat floated, boat-
li\e, on the la\e, while the strings with their complex tas-
sels, still defying the laws of gravity, quivered in the air,
and seemed to point a hundred fingers at the horrid Bel-
fry! Around, on every side, spirits howled in the howling
blast, blatant, stridulous!
A dar\er vision yet! A blac\ gash appeared in the shud-
dering parapet! Spirits flitted hither and thither with
averted face, and warning fingers pressed to quivering
lips!
Then a wild shrie\ rang through the air, as, with vol-
canic roar, two mur\y chasms burst upon the view, and
the ancient College reeled giddily around me!
Spirits in patent-leather boots stole by on tiptoe, with
hushed breath and eyes of ghastly terror! Spirits with
cheap umbrellas, and unnecessary goloshes, hovered over
me, sublimely pendant! Spirits with carpet-bags, dressed
in complete suits of dittos, sped by me, shrieking ''Away!
Away! To the arrowy Rhine! To the rushing Guadal-
quiver! To Bath! To Jericho! To anyw^here!"
Stand here with me and gaze. From this thrice-favoured
spot, in one rapturou's glance gather in, and brand for ever
Il68 A MISCELLANY
on the tablets of memory, the Vision of the Three T'sl To
your left frowns the abysmal blackness of the tenebrous
Tunnel, To your right yawns the terrible Trench. While
far above, away from the sordid aims of Earth and the
petty criticisms of Art, soars, tetragonal and tremendous,
the tintinabulatory Tea-chest! Scholar, the Vision is com-
plete!
Ven. I am glad on't : for in good sooth I am a-hungered.
How say you, my Master ? Shall we not leave fishing, and
fall to eating presently? And look you, here is a song,
which I have chanced on in this book of ballads, and
which methinks suits well the present time and this most
ancient place.
Pisc. Nay then, let's sit down. We shall, I warrant you,
make a good, honest, wholesome, hungry nuncheon with
a piece of powdered beef and a radish or two that I have
in my fish-bag. And you shall sing us this same song as
we eat.
Ven. Well then, I will sing: and I trust it may content
you as well as your excellent discourse hath oft profited
me.
Venator chaunteth
A BACCHANALIAN ODE
Here's to the Freshman of bashful eighteen!
Here's to the Senior of twenty!
Here's to the youth whose moustache can't be seen!
And here's to the man who has plenty! M
Let the men Pass!
Out of the mass
I'll warrant we'll find you some fit for a Class!
THE VISION OF THE THREE t's I169
Here's to the Censors, who symboUze Sense,
Just as Mitres incorporate Might, Sir!
To the Bursar, who never expands the expense!
And the Readers, who always do right. Sir!
Tutor and Don,
Let them jog on!
I warrant they'll rival the centuries gone!
Here's to the Chapter, melodious crew!
Whose harmony surely intends well:
For, though it commences with "harm," it is true,
Yet its motto is "All's well that ends well!"
'Tis love, I'll be bound.
That makes it go round!
For "In for a penny is in for a pound!"
Here's to the Governing Body, whose Art
(For they're Masters of Arts to a man. Sir!)
Seeks to beautify Christ Church in every part.
Though the method seems hardly to answer!
With three T's it is graced —
Which letters are placed
To stand for the names of Tact, Talent, and Taste!
Pisc. I thank you, good Scholar, for this piece of merri-
ment, and this Song, which was well humoured by the
maker, and well rendered by you.
Ven. Oh me! Look you. Master! A fish, a fish!
Pisc. Then let us hook it.
They hoo\ it.
»»>»»»»»»»»»»»««««<«««««««««
THE BLANK CHEQUE
A FABLE
''Veil, perhaps/' said Sam, ''you bought houses, vich is
delicate English for goin mad; or too\ to buildiri , vich
is a medical term for beiri incurable !'
"Five o'clock tea" is a phrase that our "rude forefathers,"
even of the last generation, would scarcely have under-
stood, so completely is it a thing of to-day : and yet, so
rapid is the March of Mind, it has already risen into a na-
tional institution, and rivals, in its universal application to
all ranks and ages, and as a specific for "all the ills that
flesh is heir to," the glorious Magna Charta.
Thus it came to pass that, one chilly day in March,
which only made the shelter indoors seem by contrast the
more delicious, I found myself in the cozy little parlor of
my old friend, kind hospitable Mrs. Nivers. Her broad
good-humoured face wreathed itself into a sunny smile as
I entered, and we were soon embarked on that wayward
smooth-flowing current of chat about nothing in particu-
lar, which is perhaps the most enjoyable of all forms of
conversation. John (I beg his pardon, "Mr. Nivers" I
should say : but he was so constantly talked oj, and at, by
his better half, as "John," that his friends were apt to for-
get he had a surname at all) sat in a distant corner with
his feet tucked well under his chair, in an attitude rather
too upright for comfort, and rather too suggestive of gen-
eral collapse for anything like dignity, and sipped his tea
in silence. From some distant region c%me a sound like
the roar'of the sea, rising and falling, suggesting the pres-
1170
THE BLANK CHEQUE Ujl
ence of many boys; and indeed I knew that the house was
full to overflowing of noisy urchins, overflowing with
high spirits and mischief, but on the whole a very credi-
table set of little folk.
"And where are you going for your sea-side trip this
summer, Mrs. Nivers?"
My old friend pursed up her lips with a mysterious
smile, and nodded. "Can't understand you," I said.
"You understand me, Mr. De Ciel, just as well as I
understand myself, and that's not saying much. / don't
know where we're going: John doesn't know where we're
going — but we're certainly going somewhere; and we
shan't even know the name of the place, till we find our-
selves there! Now are you satisfied?"
I was more hopelessly bewildered than ever. "One of us
is dreaming, no doubt," I faltered; "or — or perhaps I'm
going mad, or — " The good lady laughed merrily at my
discomfiture.
"Well, well! It's a shame to puzzle you so," she said.
"I'll tell you all about it. You see, last year we couldn't
settle it, do what we would. John said 'Heme Bay'; and /
said 'Brighton'; and the boys said 'somewhere where
there's a circus'; not that we gave much weight to that,
you know: well, and Angela (she's a growing girl, and
we've got to find a new school for her, this year), she said
'Portsmouth, because of the soldiers'; and Susan (she's
my maid, you know), she said 'Ramsgate.' Well, with all
those contrary opinions, somehow it ended in our going
nowhere: and John and I put our heads together last
week, and we settled that it should never happen again.
And now, how do you think we've managed it?"
"Quite impossible to guess," I said dreamily, as I hand-
ed back my empty cup.
"In the first place," said the good lady, "we need change
II72 A MISCELLANY
sadly. Housekeeping worries me more every year, particu-
larly with boarders — and John will have a couple o£ gen-
tleman-boarders always on hand: he says it looks respec-
table, and that they talk so well they make the house quite
lively. As if / couldn't talk enough for him!"
"It isn't that!" muttered John. "It's—"
"They're well enough sometimes," the lady went on
(she never seemed to hear her husband's remarks), "but
I'm sure, when Mr. Prior Burgess was here, it was enough
to turn one's hair grey! He was an open-handed gentle-
man enough — as liberal as could be — but far too particu-
lar about his meals. Why, if you'll believe me, he wouldn't
sit down to dinner without there were three courses! We
couldn't go on in that style, you know. I had to tell the
next boarder he must be more hardy in his notions, or I
could warrant him we shouldn't suit each other."
"Quite right," I said. "Might I trouble you for another
half cup.^"
"Sea-side air we must have, you see," Mrs. Nivers went
on, mechanically taking up the tea-pot, but too much en-
grossed in the subject to do more, "and as we can't agree
where to go, and yet we must go somewhere — did you say
half a cup?"
"Thanks," said I. "You were going to tell me what it
was you settled."
"We settled," said the good lady, pouring out the tea
without a moment's pause in her flow of talk, "that the
only course was — (cream I think you take, but no sugar?
Just so) — was to put the whole matter — but stop, John
shall read it all out to you. We've drawn up the agreement
in writing — quite ship-shape, isn't it, John? Here's the
document : John shall read it to you — and mind your stops,
there's a dear!" *
John put on his spectacles, and in a tone of gloomy satis-
THE BLANK CHEQUE II73
faction (it was evidently his own composition) read the
following:
tit
Be it hereby enacted and decreed,
That Susan be appointed for the business of choosing a
watering-place for this season, and finding a New School for
Angela,
*'That Susan be empowered not only to procure plans, but
to select a plan, to submit the estimate for the execution of
such plan to the Hous\eeeper; and, if the House\eeper sanc-
tion the proposed expenditure, to proceed with the execution
of such plan, and to fill up the Blanl^ Cheque for the whole
expense incurred!'
Before I could say another word the door burst open,
and a whole army of boys tumbled into the room, headed
by little Harry, the pet of the family, who hugged in his
arms the much-enduring parlor cat, which, as he eagerly
explained in his broken English, he had been trying to
teach to stand on one leg. "Harry-Parry Ridy-Pidy
Coachy-Poachy!" said the fond mother, as she lifted the
little fellow to her knee and treated him to a jog-trot.
"Harry's very fond of Pussy, he is, but he mustn't tease
it, he mustn't! Now go and play on the stairs, there's dear
children! Mr. De Ciel and I want to have a quiet talk."
And the boys tumbled out of the room again, as eagerly as
they had tumbled in, shouting "Let's have a Chase in the
Hall!"
"A good set of Heads, are they not, Mr. De Ciel?" my
friend continued, with a wave of her fat hand towards the
retreating army. "Phrenologists admire them much. Look
at little Sam, there. He's one of the latest arrivals, you
know, but he grows — mercy on us, how that boy does
grow! You've no idea what a Weight he is! Then there's
Freddy, that tall boy in the corner : he's rather too big for
the others, that's a fact — and he's something of a Bully at
II74 A MISCELLANY
times, but the boy has a tender heart, too : give him a bit
of poetry, now, and he's as maudhn as a girl! Then there's
Benjy, again: a nice boy, but I daren't tell you what he
costs us in pocket-money! Oh, the work we had with that
boy, till we raised his allowance! Hadn't we, John?"
(John grunted in acquiescence.) "It was Arthur took up
his cause so much, and worried poor John and me nearly
into our graves! Arthur was a very nice boy, Mr. De Ciel,
and as great a favourite with the other boys as Harry is
now, before he went to Westminster. He used to tell them
stories, and draw them the prettiest pictures you ever
saw! Houses that were all windows and chimnies — what
they call *High Art,' I believe. We tried a conservatory
once on the High-Art principle, and (would you believe
it?) the man stuck the roof up on a lot of rods like so
many knitting-needles! Of course it soon came down
about our ears, and we had to do it all over again. As I
said to John at the time, 'If this is High Art, give me a
little more of the Art next time, and a little less of the
High!' He's doing very well at Westminster, I hear, but
his tutor writes that he's very asthmatic, poor fellow — "
"iEsthetic, my dear, aesthetic!" remonstrated John.
"Ah, well, my love," said the good lady, "all those long
medical words are one and the same to me. And they
come to the same thing in the Christmas bills, too: they
both mean 'Draught as before'! Well, well! They're a set
of dear good boys on the whole : they've only one real Vice
among them — but I shall tire you, talking about the boys
so much. What do you think of that agreement of ours?"
I had been turning the paper over and over in my hands,
quite at a loss to know what to say to so strange a scheme.
"Surely I've misunderstood you?*' I said. "You don't
mean to say that you've left the whole thing to your maid
to settle for you?"
THE BLANK CHEQUE II75
"But that's exactly what I do mean, Mr. De Ciel," the
lady replied, a little testily. "She's a very sensible young
person, I can assure you. So now, wherever Susan chooses
to take us, there we go!" ("There we go! There we go!"
echoed her husband in a dismal sort of chant, rocking
himself backwards and forwards in his chair.) "You've no
idea what a comfort it is to feel that the whole thing's in
Susan's hands!"
"Go where Susan takes thee," I remarked, with a vague
idea that I was quoting an old song. "Well, no doubt Su-
san has very correct taste, and all that — but still, if I might
advise, I wouldn't leave all to her. She may need a little
check — "
"That's the very word, dear Mr. De Ciel!" cried my old
friend, clapping her hands. "And that's the very thing
we've done, isn't it, John?" ("The very thing we've done,"
echoed John.) "I made him do it only this morning. He
has signed her a Blank Cheque, so that she can go to any
cost she likes. It's such a comfort to get things settled and
off one's hands, you know! John's been grumbling about
it ever since, but now that I can tell him it's your advice — "
"But, my dear Madam," I faltered, "I don't mean
cheque with a 'Q'!"
'' — your advice," repeated Mrs. N., not heeding my in-
terruption, "why, of course he'll see the reasonableness of
it, like a sensible creature as he is!" Here she looked ap-
provingly at her husband, who tried to smile a "slow wise
smile," like Tennyson's "wealthy miller," but I fear the re-
sult was more remarkable for slowness than for wisdom.
I saw that it would be waste of words to argue the mat-
ter further, so took my leave, and did not see my old
friends again before their departure for the sea-side. I
quote the following from a letter which I received yester-
day from Mrs. Nivers:
Iiy6 A MISCELLANY
"Margate, April /.
*^Dear Friend,
"You \now the old story of the dinner-party , where there
was nothing hot but the ices, and nothing cold but the soup?
Of this place I may fairly say that there is nothing high but
the prices, the staircases, and the eggs; nothing low but the
sea and the company: nothing strong but the butter; and
nothing wea\ but the teal''
From the general tenor of her letter I gather that they
are not enjoying it.
Moral
Is it really seriously proposed — in the University of Ox-
ford, and towards the close of the Nineteenth Century
{never yet reckoned by historians as part of the T)ar\
Ages) — to sign a Blan\ Cheque for the expenses of build-
ing New Schools, before any estimate has been made of
those expenses — before any plan has been laid before the
University, from which such an estimate could be made —
before any architect has been found to design such a plan
— before any Committee has been elected to find such an
architect?
»»»»»»»»»»»»»>«««««««««««««^
TWELVE MONTHS
IN A CURATORSHIP
BY ONE WHO HAS TRIED IT
(As Curator of the Common Room at Christ Church, Ox-
ford, C. L. Dodgson was obliged to prepare a report. He
could not miss the opportunity to give these selections a Car-
rollean flavor,)
# PREFACE
This book is not a plagiarism — as its name might at first
suggest — of "Five Years in Penal Servitude." Nor, again,
is it meant to traverse precisely the same ground as "Six
Months on the Treadmill." There is a general resem-
blance, no doubt, to both the above works : still, it may be
claimed for the present memoir, that it deals with some
phases o£ humanity not hitherto analyzed, and narrates
some woes that are peculiarly its own.
An apology is needed for its great length: but I have
not had time to condense it into smaller compass.
The record, which I here propose to lay before the mem-
bers of Ch. Ch. Common Room . . . will be found large-
ly autobiographical (a euphemism for "egotistic"), slight-
ly apologetic, cautiously retrospective, and boldly pro-
phetic: it will be at once financial, carbonaceous, aesthetic,
chalybeate, literary, and alcoholic : it will be pervaded with
mystery, and spiced with hints of thrilling plots and deeds
of darkness. . . .
Would Common Room "be surprised to hear" that I
have been breaking the rules . . . with all the abandon of
a bull, when critically inspecting a collection of old Dres-
den China } I meant, of course, the letter of the rules . . .
1177
XiyS A MISCELLANY
an instance will be found in the Rules of the Wine Com-
mittee, which have fared but badly at my hands: "Com-
pound and comminuted fracture" is the scientific term, I
believe, for the process I have put them through : but this
matter is too awful to be dealt with here: it must have a
section to itself. . . .
OF WINE
Whether this subject is quite the noblest to which Time
and Thought can be devoted by Man is a question I leave
on one side for the moment . . . one curious phenomenon
I wish to call attention to. The consumption of Madeira
(B) has been, during the past year, zero. [The total wine
consumption was about 3,000 bottles for the previous
year.] After careful calculation, I estimate that, if this rate
of consumption be steadily maintained, our present stock
will last us an infinite number of years. And although
there may be something monotonous and dreary in the
prospect of such vast cycles spent in drinking second-class
Madeira, we may yet cheer ourselves with the thought of
how economically it can be done. ...
OF LIQUEURS
. . . The asterisks [in the accompanying list] indicate
the degree of goodness according to the views of a certain
Member of the Wine-Committee, who, in the noblest spir-
it of self-sacrifice, came day after day to taste the samples,
on which views I (being one whose opinion on such points
is worth absolutely nothing) entirely coincide.
OF THE WINE COMMITTEE
The Wine-Committee was a very simple organism at
first — a sort of Amceba, with so brief a code of rules that it
was all but structureless. But as time went on it developed
TWELVE MONTHS IN A CURATORSHIP II79
and its rules grew ever more complex and stringent till
they became, in the humble opinion o£ the present Cura^
tor, rather too tight a fit to be altogether comfortable. . . .
Perhaps the most interesting feature in the career of the
Committee has been its gentle fading away in dimensions
— "fine by degrees, and beautifully less."
Tune: "Ten Little Niggers"
"Four frantic Members of a chosen CovnmiUeel
One of them resigned, then there were Three.
"Three thoughtful Members: they may pull us through!
One was invalided — then there were Two.
"Two tranquil Members: much may yet be done!
But they never came together, so I had to work with One."
And I find, by the records of the business transacted dur-
ing the year, that much of it was done with only this very
limited number of Members present besides the Curator.
OF CHALYBEATE WATERS
It is not the happy lot of every Curator to be criticised,
not only by resident members of the C. R., but also by dis-
tant correspondents. I have received, during this past year,
a long series of letters from one writer, of a highly critical
— not to say hostile — tendency. These have been fired off
at me with a monotonous regularity, having all the persis-
tency— without the pathos — of minute-guns. . . . What
most amuses me in this series of projectiles is the novel
view it gives me of my position as Curator. I had been
weak enough to picture myself to myself as a well-worked
and slightly worried individual, trying, to the best of
his poor judgment, to do his duty by the friends who had
entrusted their Common Room to his care — acknowledg-
ing responsibility to those friends as a body, but most
certainly not to single members of that body, still less to
Il8o A MISCELLANY
outside-critics — and behold, I find I am a dark conspira-
tor, going about in cloak and domino, with daggers and
detonators, and withal liable to be put in the dark and
lectured by any soi-disant judge that chooses to don the
wig and gown! All this is, as Tennyson says "sweet and
strange to me.'*
A VISION OF THE FUTURE
It was in 1983, and the new Curator was in an awful di-
lemma. . . . Only a month ago, passing the Common
Room one afternoon, he had noticed the cellar door open,
and strolling in had found two shabbily-dressed men fill-
ing a coal-sack with bottles of old Port. They had declined
to explain their motives, and left hastily. But the Curator
had been true to his duty. "It is a question of \eeping
wine" he said to himself, "and can only be decided by a
majority of the Wine-Committee at a duly-summoned
meeting." . . .
And now, within the last few days, the Common Room,
ever anxious to oblige their Curator in all things, had de-
vised a new Code of Rules, which fitted him to a T, like a
pair of new handcuffs — a Code of Rules which, as they
fondly hoped, he would welcome as something really
striking and stringent. . . . [Rule 6] "Nothing shall be
done, or left undone, by the Curator without the concur-
rence of the Wine-Committee. And, if the Curator shall
complain of cold, it shall be the duty of the Committee to
make things warm for him."
After this Code had passed into law, the members of the
Common Room went about ^Vith elastic steps, and hearts
bursting with joy and thankfulness. "The wild beast is
caged at last!" they were always saying to each other, shak-
ing hands whenever they met. The Curator appeared to
be less entirely at his ease. His walk was suggestive of
Tight Boots, his countenance of Toothache, while his gen-
TWELVE MONTHS IN A CURATORSHIP I181
eral deportment was that o£ a man whose system has been
demoralised by too much Tea. ...
All this was very cheerful, but a new difficulty had
arisen, and the Curator was distracted. An old member o£
the Common Room had just come to Oxford, who always
took pale Brandy and Soda at dinner, and there was noth-
ing but brown in the Cellar. "What am I to do?" groaned
the Curator. "It will take 8 days to get a Committee-meet-
ing to settle from what merchant to get samples — 4 days to
get the samples — 8 days more to get a meeting to select the
brandy and fix the price to put on it — and 4 days to get it.
That is over 3 weeks, and the poor old man only stays a
fortnight!" Beads of perspiration trickled down his manly
forehead. After some hours of anxious thought, he nerved
himself for a truly desperate step : he ordered a bottle of
pale brandy on his own responsibility! And forthwith
came a letter from Tunbridge Wells. "What! you're at it
again, are you ? . . . What's the use of my anathematising
you twice a week by post, and doing my best to make your
life a burden?" ...
I don't quite know what became of that guilty Curator.
I believe he fled to other climes; and they elected a new
one: and Common Room was once more supposed to be
governed on constitutional principles: and no hitch oc-
curred— till the next time.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»««««««««<«««««
THREE YEARS IN A CURATORSHIP
BY ONE WHOM IT HAS TRIED
{Four paragraphs of a report submitted by the author
tvhen he was Curator of the Common Room at Oxford,)
PREFACE
Long and painful experience has taught me one great
principle in managing business for other people, viz,^ if
you want to inspire confidence, give plenty of statistics.
It does not matter that they should be accurate, or even
intelligible, so long as there is enough of them. A curator
who contents himself with simply doing the business of a
Common Room, and who puts out no statistics, is sure
to be distrusted. "He keeps us in the dark!" men will say.
"He publishes no figures. What does it mean? Is he as-
sisting himself?" But, only circulate some abstruse tables
of figures, particularly if printed in lines and columns, so
that ordinary readers can make nothing of them, and all
is changed at once. "Oh, go on, go on!" they cry, satiated
with facts. "Manage things as you like! We trust you
entirely!"
Hence this pamphlet.
OF AIRS, GLARES, AND CHAIRS
The Committee . . . appointed a year ago "to consider
the whole question of lighting and ventilating," have
grappled with, and (it is hoped) pretty nearly solved, the
two problems proposed to them — though but scantily sup-
1182
THREE YEARS IN A CURATORSHIP I183
ported by the sympathies of Common Room, who, though
ready enough to ventilate our proposals as to "light" have
altogether made light of our "ventilation."
The latter subject was discussed . . . and the plan
adopted, of an oblique opening . . . pierced through the
E. wall of the Common Room, with a valve inside, which
might be opened or shut at will. . . . The valve has not
only served the purpose for which it was designed — it
has also furnished some most interesting illustrations of
the tricks the human imagination can play, and the in-
fluence it has over physical sensations. The members of
the C. R., who sit on the E. side of the room were at first
terrified at the prospect of so much cold air beating down
on their unsheltered heads. "It is hair we need — not airT
Thus they moaned in their anguish. But the strangest part
of it was that it was usually when the valve was shut
that they felt most keenly "the pelting of this pitiless
storm" : when it was open, they made no complaint. The
conclusion seems to be, that the additional ventilation
has not really produced any inconvenience, while it has
conferred an undoubted benefit, by increasing the longev-
ity of members of the C. R. — as is plain from the simple
consideration that they are, all of them, six months older
than they were when the change was made.
The question of "light" has been very fully and fiercely
debated by the Committee, and the suggestions were so
many, and so contradictory, that the great mind of the
Curator nearly gave way . . . for the table, it was agreed
to request Mr. Thompson to select one of Hinck's "Du-
plex" lamps — it being understood that that kind com-
bined high art and high illumination. Mr. Thompson
kindly did so, and the result has been "a thing of beauty,"
which is also (probably) "a joy forever," but it has not
yet been tested quite long enough to prove this. . . .
I184 A MISCELLANY
DE RE NUMMARIA
On this topic I am nothing if not tabular. . . .
No financial statement can possibly be complete with-
out a word or two about wine. For surely any Curator,
worthy of the name, would be found, if tested by one
Lee's Reader, to possess a density varying directly, and
a gravity varying inversely, as the potency of the Port —
if tested anatomically by a second, to have the word
"WINE" neatly emblazoned on his heart — and, if finally
submitted to quantitative analysis by a third, to consist
principally of C4H6O2.
There is not, however, anything specially thrilling to
say about this deeply-interesting subject. Water-drinkers
will be pleased to hear that we have spent during the past
year, with all the recklessness of several Grand Old Men,
no less than ;/^768 i8s. gd, on wine, and that the result
of this skillful financial operation has been a deficit on
the year's account, of ^^44 195'. gd. — while the wine-
drinkers will be equally delighted to learn that the stock
of pints of Y' quern has this year reached the proud posi-
tion occupied, two years ago, by Madeira (B), and that
we have enough in hand to last, at the present rate of
consumption, for an infinite number of years. ...
I
DE MERI MERITIS
... I have yet a word to say regarding one of our
choicest wines, the "Mouton" Claret. On this subject we,
the Wine Committee, have displayed a nervous trepida-
tion, not to say a hysterical hypercesthesia — absolutely
morbid. About a year ago a panic seized us. One or two
RESIDENT WOMEN-STUDENTS I185
bottles had turned out bad ("corked" or whatever it
might have been) : and suddenly the cry went up "All is
lost!": wild words, such as "It is past its prime!" "It is
worth only three shillings a bottle!" hurtled in the air:
the very constitution of the Cellar was affected for a
time: symptoms of diminished circulation and of slight
consumption showed themselves. The Curator trembled,
but would not quit the gory jfield in such frantic haste,
or give the order ... to empty the remaining bottles into
Mercury — thereby certainly demoralising, and probably
destroying, its scaly inmates. . . . The devouring anxiety
(members of the C. R. may have noticed its crushing
eflfect on me, producing a lambent — not to say sheepish —
style of conversation?) on the subject of "Mouton" is
now wholly and at once removed. Those, who have not
felt the anxiety, cannot fully realise the relief. The wretch,
who groans with a bad tooth, is grateful to the dentist
who extracts it for him: but were the same dentist to
rush, pincers in hand, into the street, stop the first passer-
by, and wrench from his jaw some perfectly sound tooth,
similar expressions of gratitude could not reasonably be
looked for.
4
DE LICIiE STATISTICS
. . . Enough, enough! I have said my say, gentle reader!
Turn the page, and revel, to your heart's content, in
[A Table of the Present Stock of Wine.].
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RESIDENT WOMEN-STUDENTS
In the bewildering multiplicity of petty side-issues, with
which the question, of granting University Degrees to
Il86 A MISCELLANY
Women, has been overlaid, there is some danger that
Members of Congregation may lose sight o£ the really
important issues involved.
The following four propositions should, I think, be kept
steadily in view by all who wish to form an independent
opinion as to the matter in dispute.
One of the chief functions, if not the chief function, of
our University, is to prepare young Men — partly by teach-
ing, partly by discipline, partly by the personal influence
of those who have charge of them, and partly by the in-
fluence they exercise on one another — for the business of
Life.
(This needs to be specially borne in mind in con-
nection with the assumption, so constantly made in
this controversy, that the sole meaning of the B. A.
Degree is that it guarantees the possession of a large
amount of \nowledge,)
Consequently,
(2)
The first question to be asked, as to any Scheme pro-
posed to our University, is, *'How will it affect those for
whose well-being we are responsible?" When we have
assured ourselves that it will not exercise any harmful in-
fluence on our own Students, then, and not till then, may
we fairly proceed to consider how it will affect those for
whose well-being we are not responsible.
.(3)
Any Scheme for the recognition of Women-Students —
whether by a series of Certificates or a single Diploma —
whereby those who have resided here will have an advan-
RESIDENT WOMEN-STUDENTS I187
tage, in the keen competition for educational posts, over
those who have not, will most certainly end in making
residence compulsory on all. Whether they wish it or not,
whether they can afford it or not, Women-Students will
find that they must reside, unless they are content to be
hopelessly distanced in the race whose prize is "daily
bread."
Consequently,
(4)
Any such Scheme is certain to produce an enormous in-
flux of resident Women-Students. Considering that we
have over 3000 young Men-Students, and that the number
of young Women, who are devoting themselves to study,
is increasing "by leaps and bounds," it may be confidently
predicted that any such Scheme will bring to Oxford at
least 3000 more young Women-Students. Such an im-
migration will of course produce a rapid increase in the
size of Oxford, and will necessitate a large increase in our
teaching-staff and in the number of our lecture-rooms.
The main question before us is, "Will the mutual in-
fluence, of two such sets of Students, residing in such close
proximity, be for good or for evil.f^"
Some Members of the Congregation will reply, "For
good," some, "For evil." By all means let each form his
own independent judgement, and give effect to it by his
vote : but let him do it deliberately, and in the full light of
facts.
The late Dr. Liddon was strongly of opinion that such
an influence would be for evil, at any rate for the young
Women, I have myself heard him — no doubt many others
have done the same — express, most warmly and earnestly.
Il88 A MISCELLANY
his fears as to the effect the new movement, for flooding
Oxford with young Women-Students, would have on the
young Women themselves. And I have no doubt that,
were he yet among us, his silvery tones would have been
heard in Congregation last Tuesday, deprecating the in-
troduction, into our ancient University, of that social mon-
ster, the "He- Woman."
Surely the real "way-out," from our present perplexity,
is to be found in some such course as that advocated by
Mr. Strachan-Davidson, that Oxford, Cambridge, and
Dublin, should join in a petition to the Crown to grant
a charter for a Women's University.
Such a University would very soon attract to itself the
greater portion of young Women-Students. It takes no
great time to build Colleges; and we might confidently
expect to see "New Oxford," in the course of 20 or even
of 10 years, rivaling Oxford, not only in numbers, but in
attainments. At first, perhaps, they might need to borrow
some teachers from -the older Universities; but they would
soon be able to supply all, that would be needed, from
among themselves; and Women-Lecturers and Women-
Professors would arise, fully as good as any that the older
Universities have ever produced.
This proposal has been met by the plea that it is not
what the Women themselves "desire." Surely no weaker
plea was ever urged in any controversy. Even men very
often fail to "desire" what is, after all, the best thing for
them to have. And those ancients, on whom the onerous
task was laid, of weighing and, if reasonably possible,
satisfying the claims of the horse-leech and her two
daughters, had other things to consider than the mere
shrillness of their outcries.
Charles L. Dodgson
CH.CH.
Mar. yth, i8g6
SOME POPULAR FALLACIES
ABOUT VIVISECTION
At A time when this painful subject is engrossing so
large a share of public attention, no apology, I trust, is
needed for the following attempt to formulate and classify
some of the many fallacies, as they seem to me, which
I have met with in the writings of those who advocate the
practice. No greater service can be rendered to the cause
of truth, in this fiercely contested field, than to reduce
these shadowy, impalpable phantoms into definite forms,
which can be seen, which can be grappled with, and
which, when once fairly laid, we shall not need to exercise
a second time.
I begin with two contradictory propositions, which
seem to constitute the two extremes, containing between
them the golden mean of truth —
1. That the infliction of pain on animals is a right of
man, needing no justification,
2. That it is in no case justifiable.
The first of these is assumed in practice by many who
would hardly venture to outrage the common feelings of
humanity by stating it in terms. All who recognise the
difference of right and wrong must admit, if the question
be closely pressed, that the infliction of pain is in some
cases wrong. Those who deny it are not likely to be amen-
able to argument. For what common ground have we?
They must be restrained, like brute beasts, by physical
force.
The second has been assumed by an Association lately
formed for the total suppression of Vivisection, in whose
manifesto it is placed in the same category with Slavery,
as being an absolute evil, with which no terms can be
1 189
IipO A MISCELLANY
made. I think I may assume that the proposition most
generally accepted is an intermediate one, namely, that
the infliction of pain is in some cases justifiable, but not
in all.
3. That our right to inflict pain on animals is co-exten-
sive with our right to \ill, or even to exterminate a race
{which prevents the existence of possible animals) all be-
ing ali\e infringements of their rights.
This is one of the commonest and most misleading of
all the> fallacies. Mr. Freeman, in an article, on Field Sports
and Vivisection, which appeared in the Fortnightly Re-
view for May, 1874, appears to countenance this when he
classes death with pain together, as if they were admitted
to be homogeneous. For example —
"By cruelty then I understand, as I have understood
throughout, not all infliction of death or suflfering on man
or beast, but their wrongful or needless infliction. . . . My
positions then were two. First .... that certain cases of
the infliction of death or suflfering on brute creatures may
be blameworthy. The second was, that all infliction of
death or suflfering for the purpose of mere sport is one of
those blameworthy cases."
But in justice to Mr. Freeman I ought also to quote the
following sentence, in which he takes the opposite view:
"I must in all cases draw a wide distinction between mere
killing and torture."
In discussing the "rights'^of animals," I think I may pass
by, as needing no remark, the so-called right of a race of
animals to be perpetuated, and the still more shadowy
right of a non-existent animal to come into existence. The
only question worth consideration is whether the killing
of an animal is a real infringement of right. Once grant
this, and a reductio ad absurdum is imminent, unless we
are illogical enough to assign rights to animals in propor-
POPULAR FALLACIES ABOUT VIVISECTION II9I
tion to their size. Never may we destroy, for our conven-
ience, some of a litter of puppies — or open a score of oys-
ters when nineteen would have sufficed — or light a candle
in a summer evening for mere pleasure, lest some hapless
moth should rush to an untimely end! Nay, we must not
even take a walk, with the certainty of crushing many an
insect in our path, unless for really important business!
Surely all this is childish. In the absolute hopelessness of
drawing a line anywhere, I conclude (and I believe that
many, on considering the point, will agree with me) that
man has an absolute right to inflict death on animals,
without assigning any reason, provided that it be a pain-
less death, but that any infliction of pain needs its special
justification.
4. That man is infinitely more important than the lower
animals, so that the infliction of animal suffering, how-
ever great, is justifiable if it prevent human suffering,
however small.
This fallacy can be assumed only when unexpressed.
To put it into words is almost to refute it. Few, even in an
age where selfishness has almost become a religion, dare
openly avow a selfishness so hideous as this! While there
are thousands, I believe, who would be ready to assure
the vivisectors that, so far as their personal interests are
concerned, they are ready to forego any prospect they
may have of a diminution of pain, if it can only be se-
cured by the infliction of so much pain on innocent
creatures.
But I have a more serious charge than that of selfishness
to bring against the scientific men who make this assump-
tion. They use it dishonestly, recognising it when it tells
in their favour, and ignoring it when it tells against them.
For does it not pre-suppose the axiom that human and an-
imal suffering differ in \ind? A strange assertion this.
II92 A MISCELLANY
from the lips of people who tell us that man is twin-
brother to the monkey! Let them be at least consistent,
and when they have proved that the lessening of the
human suffering is an end so great and glorious as to
justify any means that will secure it, let them give the
anthropomorphoid ape the benefit of the argument. Fur-
ther than that I will not ask them to go, but will resign
them in confidence to the guidance of an exorable logic.
Had they only the candour and the courage to do it, I
believe they would choose the other horn of the dilemma,
and would reply, "Yes, man is in the same category as the
brute; and just as we care not (you see it, so we cannot
deny it) how much pain we inflict on the one, so we
care not, unless when deterred by legal penalties, how
much we inflict on the other. The lust for scientific
knowledge is our real guiding principle. The lessening of
human suffering is a mere dummy set up to amuse senti-
mental dreamers.
I now come to another class of fallacies — those involved
in the comparison, so often made, between vivisection
and field-sports. If the theory, that the two are essentially
similar, involved no worse consequence than that sports
should be condemned by all who condemn vivisection, I
should be by no means anxious to refute it. Unfortunately
the other consequence is just as logical, and just as likely,
that vivisection should be approved of by all who approve
of sport.
The comparison rests on the assumption that the main
evil laid to the charge of vivisection is the pain inflicted
on the animal. This assumption I propose to deal with,
further on, as a fallacy : at present I will admit it for the
sake of argument, hoping to show, that, even on this
hypothesis, the vivisectors have a very poor case. In mak-
ing this comparison their first claim is —
POPULAR FALLACIES ABOUT VIVISECTION II93
5. That it is fair to compare aggregates of pain,
"The aggregate amount o£ wrong" — I quote from an
article in the Pall Mall Gazette for February 13th —
"which is perpetrated against animals by sportsmen in a
single year probably exceeds that which some of them
endure from vivisectors in half a century." The best refu-
tation of this fallacy would seem to be to trace it to its
logical conclusion— that a very large number of trivial
wrongs are equal to one great one. For instance, that a
man, who by selling adulterated bread inflicts a minute
injury on the health of some thousands of persons, com-
mits a crime equal to One murder. Once grasp this reduc-
tio ad absurdum, and you will be ready to allow that the
only fair comparison is between individual and indi-
vidual.
Supposing the vivisectors are forced to abandon this
position, they may then fall back on the next parallel —
6. That the pain inflicted on an individual animal in
vivisection is not greater than in sport.
I am no sportsman, and so have no right to dogma-
tise, but I am tolerably sure that all sportsmen will agree
with me that this is untrue of shooting, in which, when-
ever the animal is killed at once, it is probably as painless
a form of death as could be devised ; while the sufferings
of one that escapes wounded ought to be laid to the charge
of unskilful sport, not of sport in the abstract. Probably
much of the same might be said of fishing: for other
forms of sport, and especially for hunting, I have no de-
fence to offer, believing that they involve very great
cruelty.
Even if the last two fallacies were granted to advocates
of vivisection, their use in the argument must depend on
the following proposition being true: —
II94 A MISCELLANY
7. That the evil charged against vivisection consists
chiefly in the pain inflicted on the animal.
I maintain, on the contrary, that it consists chiefly in the
eflfect produced on the operator. To use the words of Mr.
Freeman, in the article already quoted, "the question is
not as to the aggregate amount of suffering inflicted, but
as to the moral character of the acts by which the suf-
fering is inflicted." We see this most clearly, when we
shift our view from the act itself to its remoter conse-
quences. The hapless animal suffers, dies, "and there an
end" : but the man whose sympathies have been deadened,
and whose selfishness has been fostered, by the contem-
plation of pain deliberately inflicted, may be the parent of
others equally brutalised, and so bequeath a curse to
future ages. And even if we limit our view to the present
time, who can doubt that the degradation of a soul is a
greater evil than the suffering of bodily frame? Even if
driven to admit this, the advocates of the practice may
still assert —
8. That vivisection has no demoralising effect on the
character of the operator,
"Look at our surgeons!" they may exclaim. "Are they a
demoralised or a butalised class ? Yet you must admit, that
in the operations they have to perform, they are perpet-
ually contemplating p^in — aye, and pain deliberately in-
flicted by their own hands." The analogy is not a fair one;
since the immediate motive — of saving the life, or dimin-
ishing the sufferings, of the person operated on — is a
counteracting influence in surgery, to which vivisection,
with its shadowy hope of some day relieving the suffer-
ings of some human being yet unborn, has nothing par-
allel to offer. This, however, is a question to be decided
by evidence, not by argument. History furnishes us with
POPULAR FALLACIES ABOUT VIVISECTION II95
too many examples of the degradation of character pro-
duced by the deUberate pitiless contemplation of suffer-
ing. The effect of the national bull-fights on the Spanish
character is a case in point. But we need not go to Spain
for evidence: the following extract from the Echo, quoted
in the Spectator for March 20th, will be enough to en-
able the reader to judge for himself what sort of effect
this practice is likely to have on the minds of the stud-
ents—
"But if yet more be necessary to satisfy the public
minds on this latter point" (the effect on the operators),
"the testimony of an English physiologist, known to the
writer, may be useful in conclusion. He was present
some time past at a lecture, in the course of which demon-
strations were made on living dogs. When the unfor-
tunate creatures cried and moaned under the operation,
many of the students actually mimic\ed their cries in
derision! The gentleman who related this occurrence
adds that the spectacle of the writhing animals and the
fiendish behaviour of the audience so sickened him, that
he could not wait for the conclusion of the lecture, but
took his departure in disgust."
It is a humiliating but an undeniable truth, that man
has something of the wild beast in him, that a thirst for
blood can be aroused in him by witnessing a scene of car-
nage, and that the infliction of torture, when the first in-
stincts of horror have been deadened by the familiarity
may become, first, a matter of indifference, then a sub-
ject of morbid interest, then a positive pleasure, and then
a ghastly and ferocious delight.
Here again, however, the analogy of sport is of some
service to the vivisector, and he may plead that the in-
fluence we dread is already at work among our sports-
men. This I will now consider.
Iig6 A MISCELLANY
9. That vivisection does not demoralise the character
more than sport.
The opponents' case would not, I think, suffer much
even if this were admitted; but I am inchned to demur
to it as a universal truth. We must remember that much
of the excitement and interest of sport depends on causes
entirely unconnected with the infliction of pain, which is
rather ignored than deliberately contemplated ; whereas in
vivisection the painful effects constitute in many cases a
part, in some cases the whole, of the interest felt by the
spectator. And all theytell us of the highly developed in-
tellect of the anatomical student, with which they con-
trast so contemptuously the low animal instincts of the
fox-hunter, is but another argument against themselves;
for surely the nobler the being we degrade, the greater is
the injury we inflict on society. Corruptio optimi pessima,
"But all this ignores the motive of the action," cry the
vivisectors. "What is it in sport? Mere pleasure. In this*
matter we hold an impregnable position." Let us see.
10. That, while the motive in sport is essentially selfish,
in vivisection it is essentially unselfish.
It is my conviction that the non-scientific world is far
too ready to attribute to the advocates of science all the
virtues they are so ready to claim; and when they put
forward their favourite ad captandum argument that
their labours are undergone for one pure motive — the
good of humanity — society is far too ready to exclaim,
with Mrs. Varden, "Here is a meek, righteous, thorough-
going Christian, who, having dropped a pinch of salt on
the tails of all the cardinal virtues, and caught them every
one, makes light of their possession, and pants for more
moralty!" In other words, society is far too ready to ac-
cept the picture of the pale, worn devotee of science giv-
ing his days and nights to irksome and thankless toil,
POPULAR FALLACIES ABOUT VIVISECTION II97
spurred on by no other motive than a boundless philan-
thropy. As one who has himself devoted much time and
labour to scientific investigations, I desire to offer the
strongest possible protest against this falsely coloured
picture. I believe that any branch of science, when taken
up by one who has a natural turn for it, will soon become
as fascinating as sport to the most ardent sportsman, or
as any form of pleasure to the most refined sensualist.
The claim that hard work, or -the endurance of privation,
proves the existence of an unselfish motive, is simply
monstrous. Grant to me that the miser is proved unself-
ish when he stints himself of food and sleep to add one
more piece of gold to his secret hoard, that the place-
hunter is proved unselfish when he toils through long
years to reach the goal of his ambition, and I will grant
to you that the laborious pursuit of science is proof posi-
tive of an unselfish motive. Of course I do not assert, of
even a single scientific student, that his real motive is
merely that craving for more knowledge, whether useful
or useless, which is as natural an appetite as the craving
for novelty or any other form of excitement. I only say
that the lower motive would account for the observed
conduct quite as well as the higher.
Yet, after all, the whole argument, deduced from a
comparison of vivisection with sport, rests on the follow-
ing proposition, which I claim to class as a fallacy —
II. That toleration of one form of an evil necessitates the
toleration of all others.
Grant this, and you simply paralyze all conceivable
efforts at reformation. How can we talk of putting down
cruelty to animals when drunkenness is rampant in the
land? You would propose, then, to legislate in the in-
terests of sobriety? Shame on you! Look at the unsea-
worthy ships in which our gallant sailors are risking their
II98 A MISCELLANY
lives! What! Organize a crusade against dishonest ship-
owners, while our streets swarm with a population grow-
ing up in heathen ignorance! We can but reply, non
omnia possumus omnes. And surely the man who sees his
way to diminish in any degree a single one of the myriad
evils around him, may well lay to heart the saying of a
wise man of old, "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do
it with thy jnight."
The last parallel to which the advocates of vivisection
may be expected to retreat, supposing all these positions
to be found untenable, is the assertion —
12. That legislation would only increase the evil.
The plea, if I understand it aright, amounts to this —
that legislation would probably encourage many to go
beyond the limit with which at present they are content,
as soon as they found that a legal limit had been fixed
beyond their own. Granting this to be the tendency of
human nature, what is the remedy usually adopted in
other cases? A stricter limit, or the abandonment of all
limits? Suppose a case — that in a certain town it were
proposed to close all taverns at midnight, and that the
opponents of the measure urged, "At present some close
at eleven — a most dd^irable hour : if you pass this law, all
will keep open till midnight." What would the answer
be? "Then let us do nothing," or, "Then let us fix eleven,
instead of twelve, as our limit?" Surely this does not
need many words: the principle of doing evil that good
may come is not likely to find many defenders, even in
this modern disguise of forbearing to do good lest evil
should come. We may safely take our stand on the prin-
ciple of doing the duty which we see before us : secondary
consequences are at once out of our control and beyond
our calculation.
Let us now collect into one paragraph the contradic-
POPULAR FALLACIES ABOUT VIVISECTION II99
tions of some of these fallacies (which I have here rather
attempted to formulate and classify than to refute, or
even fully discuss), and so exhibit in one view the case
of the opponents of vivisection. It is briefly this —
That while we do not deny the absolute right of man
to end the lives of the lower animals by a painless death>
we require good and sufficient cause for the infliction of
pain.
That the prevention of suffering to a human being does
not justify the infliction of a greater amount of suffering
on an animal.
That the chief evil of the practice of vivisection con-
sists in its effect on the moral character of the operator;
and that this effect is distinctly demoralising and brutalis-
ing.
That hard work and endurance of privations are no
proof of an unselfish motive.
That the toleration of one form of an evil is no excuse
for tolerating another.
Lastly, that the risk of legislation increasing the evil is
not enough to make all legislation undesirable.
We have now, I think, seen good reasons to suspect that
the principle of selfishness lies at the root of this accursed
practice. That the same principle is probably the cause of
the indifference with which its growth among us is re-
garded, is not perhaps so obvious. Yet I believe this indif-
ference to be based on a tacit assumption, which I pro-
pose to notice as the last of this long catalogue of falla-
cies—
13. That the practice of vivisection will never be ex-
tended so as to include human subjects.
That is, in other words, that while science arrogates to
herself the right of torturing at her pleasure the whole
sentient creation up to man himself, some inscrutable
1200 A MISCELLANY
boundary line is there drawn, over which she will never
venture to pass. "Let the galled jade wince, our withers
are unwrung."
Not improbably, when that stately Levite of old was
pacing with dainty step the road that led from Jerusalem
to Jericho, "bemused with thinking of tithe-concerns,"
and doing his best to look unconscious of the prostrate
form on the other side of the way, if it could have whis-
pered in his ear, ''Your turn comes next to fall among the
thieves!" some sudden thrill of pity might have been
aroused in him : he might even, at the risk of soiling those
rich robes, have joined the Samaritan in his humane task
of tending the wounded man. And surely the easy-going
Levites of our own time would take an altogether new
interest in this matter, could they only realise the pos-
sible advent of a day when anatomy shall claim as legiti-
mate subjects for experiment, first, our condemned crim-
inals— next, perhaps, the inmates of our refuges for incur-
ables— then the hopeless lunatic, the pauper hospital-
patient, and generally "him that hath no helper," — a day
when successive generations of students, trained from
their earliest years lo the repression of all human sym-
pathies, shall have developed a new and more hideous
Frankenstein — a soulless being to whom science shall be
all in all.
Homo sum! Quidvis humanum non a me alienum
puto.^
* Quotation from letter, dated July i8, 1924, from F. Madan, of Ox-
ford to M. L. Parrish, of Pine Valley, New Jersey.
Dear Mr. Parrish,
I congratulate you on acquiring the "Popular Fallacies about Vivi-
section." Mr. Williams himself has the only other copy.
I suppose it has Mr. Dodgson'smisquotation of Terence in it: "Homo
sum! Quidvis humanum non a me alienum puto." That is bad all
round. It doesn't even scan. Really mathematicians should let Latin
alone. It should be of course:
"Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto.'*
LAWN TENNIS TOURNAMENTS I20I
And when that day shall come, O my brother-man,
you who claim for yourself and for me so proud an an-
cestry— tracing our pedigree through the anthropomor-
phoid ape up to the primeval zoophyte — what potent
charm have you in store to win exemption from the com-
mon doom? Will you represent to that grim spectre, as he
gloats over you, scalpel in hand, the inalienable rights of
man? He will tell you that this is merely a question of
relative expediency — that, with so feeble a physique as
yours, you have only to be thankful that natural selec-
tion has spared you so long. Will you reproach him with
the needless torture he proposes to inflict upon you? He
will smilingly assure you that the hypercesthesia, which
he hopes to induce, is in itself a most interesting phe-
nomenon, deserving much patient study. Will you then,
gathering up all your strength for one last desperate ap-
peal, plead with him as with a fellow-man, and with an
agonized cry for "Mercy!" seek to rouse some dormant
spark of pity in that icy breast? Ask it rather of the
nether mill-stone.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»«««««««««««««<<
LAWN TENNIS TOURNAMENTS
The True Method of Assigning Prizes with a Proof
of the Fallacy of the Present Method
«
I. INTRODUCTORY
At A Lawn Tennis Tournament, where I chanced, some
while ago, to be a spectator, the present method of assign-
ing prizes was brought to my notice by the lamentations
1202 A MISCELLANY
of one of the Players, who had been beaten (and had thus
lost all chance of a prize) early in the contest, and who
had had the mortification of seeing the 2nd prize carried
off by a Player whom he knew to be quite inferior to
himself. The results of the investigations, which I was
led to make, I propose to lay before the reader under the
following four headings —
(a) A proof that the present method of assigning prizes
is, except in the case of the first prize, entirely un-
meaning.
(b) A proof that the present method of scoring in
matches is constantly liable to lead to unjust results.
(c) A system of rules for conducting Tournaments,
which, while requiring even less time than the pres-
ent system, shall secure equitable results.
(d) An equitable system for scoring in matches.
2. A proof that the present method of assigning prizes
is, except in the case of the first prize, entirely unmeaning.
Let us take, as an example of the present method, a
Tournament of 32 competitors with 4 prizes.
On the ist day, these contend in 16 pairs: on the 2nd
day, the 16 Winners contend in 8 pairs, the Losers being
excluded from further competition : on the 3rd day, the 8
Winners contend in 4 pairs: on the 4th day, the 4 Win-
ners (who are now known to be the 4 Prize-Men) contend
in 2 pairs : and on the 5th day, the 2 Winners contend to-
gether, to decide which is to take the ist prize and which
the 2nd — the two Losers having no further contest, as the
3rd and 4th prize are of equal value.
Now, if we divide the list of competitors, arranged in
the order in which they are paired, into 4 sections, we may
see that all that this method really does is to ascertain who
is best in each section, then who is best in each half of
the list, and then who is best of all. The best of all (and
LAWN TENNIS TOURNAMENTS I203
this is the only equitable result arrived at) wins the ist
prize: the best in the other half o£ the list wins the 2nd:
and the best men in the two sections not yet represented
by a champion win the other two prizes. If the Players
had chanced to be paired in the order of merit, the 17th
best Player would necessarily carry off the 2nd prize, and
the 9th and 25th best the 3rd and 4th! This of course is an
extreme case : but anything within these limits is possible :
e.g. any competitor, from the 3rd best to the 17th best,
may, by the mere accidental arrangement of pairs, and by
no means as a result of his own skill, carry off the 2nd
prize. As a mathematical fact, the chance that the 2nd
best Player will get the prize he deserves is only i6/3ists;
while the chance that the best 4 shall get their proper
prizes is so small, that the odds are 12 to i against its
happening!
If any one thinks that, after all, we are merely intro-
ducing another element of chance into the game, and that
no one can fairly object to that^ let him try the experiment
in a rifle competition. Let him interpose when the man,
who has made the 2nd best score, is going to receive his
prize, and propose that he shall draw a counter from a
bag containing 16 white and 15 black, and only have his
prize in case he draw a white one: and let him observe
the expression of that rifleman's face.
3. A proof that the present method of scoring in match-
es is constantly liable to lead to unjust results.
To prove this, let us suppose a "set" to mean "the best
of II games," and a "match" "the best of 5 sets": i.e. "he,
who first wins 6 games, wins a set; he, who first wins 3
sets, wins a match."
Suppose A and B to play the following 50 games ("A2"
means A wins 2 games, and so on) —
B2A5B4 I A6 I B3A5B2A'^ I B^A2B4A3B I B2A5B3A.
1204 A MISCELLANY
Here A wins 28 games to 22, and also wins the match.
But, by simply transposing A^, B^, we get
B2A5B4 I A6 1 B3A5B3 I A3B4A3 I B3A5B3,
the last game of the original series not being played.
Here A still wins 27 games to 22: yet he loses the
match!
4. A system of rules for conducting Tournaments,
which, while requiring even less time than the present
system, shall secure equitable results.
The method for conducting Tournaments, which I
have to propose, involves two departures from the present
method. First, I propose to make a "match" last only half
a day (the necessary reduction in the number of games I
will discuss in section 5) : secondly, I propose to give only
3 prizes. The rules for a Tournament of 32 Players would
be as follows —
(a) The Tournament begins in the middle of the ist
day, so that there is only one contest that day — the 32
Players being arranged in 16 pairs.
(b) A list is kept, and against each name is entered, at
the end of each contest, the name of any one who has
been superior to hifn — whether by actually beating him,
or by beating some one who has done so (thus, if A beats
B, and B beats C, A and B are both "superiors" of C). So
soon as any name has 3 "superiors" entered against it, it
is struck out of the list.
(c) For the 2nd day (morning) the 16 unbeaten men
are paired together, and similarly the 16 with i superior
(the Losers in these last-named pairs will now have 3
superiors each, and will therefore be struck oflf the list) . In
all other contests they are paired in the same way; first
pairing the unbeaten, then those with i superior, and so
on, and avoiding, as far as possible, pairing two Players
who have a common superior.
LAWN TENNIS TOURNAMENTS I205
(d) By the middle o£ the 3rd day the unbeaten are re-
duced to two, one of whom is certainly "First-prize-man."
These two do not contend in the afternoon contest that
day, but have a whole-day match on the 4th day — the
other Players meanwhile continuing the usual half-day
matches.
(e) By the end of the 4th day, the "First-prize-man" is
known (by the very same process of elimination used in
the existing method) : and the remaining Players are
paired by the same rules as before, for the 2 contests on
the 5th day. If, in section (a), the Tournament was begun
in the morning, the two men named in section (d) being
still allowed a whole-day match, nothing would be gained
in time, as the Tournament would take 4^/4 days, while
much would be lost in interest, as the first prize would be
settled in 3 days.
To illustrate these rules, I will give the complete his-
tory of a Tournament of 32 competitors, with 3 prizes. If
the reader will draw out the following Tables, in blank,
and fill them up for himself, referring, if necessary, to the
accompanying directions, he will easily understand the
workings of the system.
Let the Players be arranged alphabetically, and let the
relative skill, with which they play in this Tournament,
be—
A
B
C
D
E
F
19
22
14
32
16
25
K
L
M
N
P
Q
10
8
I
29
4
12
U
V
W
X
Y
Z
26
II
20
31
13
18
d
e
f
g
h
21
30
5
7
27
G
H
J
15
28
3
R
S
T
2
17
23
a
b
c
6
24
9
I206 A MISCELLANY
These numbers ("i" meaning "best") will enable the
reader to name the victor in any contest: but of course
they are not supposed to be known to the Tournament-
Committee, who have nothing to guide them but the re-
sults of actual contests. In the following Tables, "1(e)"
means "first day, evening," and so on : also a Player, who
is virtually proved superior to another, is entered thus
"(A)." The victor in each contest is marked *: and:
means "struck out."
Directions for filling in the Tables —
Tab. I. Day I (e). The names are written out alphabet-
ically, and paired as they stand. The victors are marked
with asterisks.
Tab. II. Day I (e). As B has been beaten by A, A is
entered as his "superior"; C as D's superior; and so on.
Tab. I. Day II (m). We first pair together all the un-
beaten, A.C.E.G.&c. Then those who have one superior,
B.D.F.H.&C.
Tab. II (m). We first enter the actual superiors, C,G,
&c. Then, since A has a superior C, and B has a superior
A, we see that B has a virtual superior C; and so on. We
then see that D has 3 superiors, and must be struck out;
and so with H, &c.
Tab. I. Day II (e) We first pair together all the unbeat-
en, C,G, &c. Then all with one superior, A,E, &c.; but
when we come to J,L, we find we have a common su-
perior; so we pair J with P, and L with Q. This series
ends with an odd one, g, who must therefore be paired
with the first of those who have two superiors each, F.T,
^c.
Tab. I. Day III (m). Here, in pairing those with one
superior, we again end with an odd one, g, who must
therefore be paired with the first of those with two su-
periors, viz. T. We end with an "odd man," c.
Tab. II. Day III (m). The unbeaten are now reduced
LAWN TENNIS TOURNAMENTS I207
to one pair, M, f, who therefore will do nothing this af-
ternoon, but will have a whole-day contest tomorrow.
Tab. I. Day III (e). Those who have one superior are
CJjLjR, all with a common superior M; and then V,
a, g, all with a common superior f. We therefore pair
C with V, and so on, leaving an odd one R, who must be
paired with the only one who has two superiors, viz. c.
Tab. 11. Day III (e). Enter as usual.
Tab. I. Day IV (m). We pair the 2 unbeaten, M, f,
for their whole-day contest. Then those with one superior.
Tab. II. Day IV (m). M and f are still contending. V
and g are struck out.
Tab. I. Day IV (e). J and R must be paired together,
though they have a common superior.
Tab. I. Day IV (e). M is First-prize-man.
Tab. I. Day V (m). R and f must be paired together,
though they have a common superior. J is "odd man."
Tab. II. Day V (m). R is now the only man with one
superior, and is therefore Second-prize-man.
Tab. I. Day V (e). J and f contend for the Third prize.
If this Tournament were fought by the present method,
the 4 Prize men would be C, M, V, f : f would get the
2nd prize, and C and V the 3rd and 4th: i.e. the 5th
best man would get the 2nd prize, and the 14th and nth
best the other two.
5. An equitable system for scoring in matches.
In order to make "matches" more equitable, I propose
to abolish "sets," and make a "match" consist of "games."
Thus, instead of "best of 11 games = set; best of 5 sets=
match" (i.e. he who first wins 6 games wins a set; he
who first wins 3 sets wins a match), where a player may
win with as few as 18 games, and must win with 28, I
would substitute "he who first wins 28 games, or who
gets 18 games ahead, wins the match." I therefore pro-
TABLE I. (Pairs.)
I. (e)
II. (m)
(e)
III. (m)
(e)
IV. (m) (e)
V.(m)
(e)
A \*
B 1
C /*
C \*
G /
M /*
<^ 1
V /*
M|
M 1*
fV
/ }*
C \*
D /
G /*
M \*
R /
f /*
^a }*
M*
R )*
J
F 1
M /*
V \*
Y /
J }*
g 1*
fr
.
H 1
U*
f /*
G 1
L /*
n*
J I*
K /
S 1
V /*
A \*
E /
R \*
s /
M 1*
W \
Y /*
M*
a /*
N \
P /*
c }*
L \*
'tV
R /*
iV
S 1 *
w /
C
-
S \*
T 1
B \*
2 1
c /*
u 1
V /*
M*
g \*
B /*
W \*
X /
L /*
F 1
T /*
z 1
N \
Q j*
d \*
h /
t>y
T \*
u /
c \*
d 1
Z /*
1 }*
^}*
iV
h}*
N
TABLE II. (SuPERjORS.)
A
I.(e)
11. (m)
(e)
III. (m)
(e)
IV. (m)
(e)
V.(m)
(e)
C
• • •
J(M)0
B
A
(C)
gO
C
• * •
• • •
• • •
M
V(f)0
■
D
C
B(A) O
E
• • •
G
A(C) O
F
E
(G)
TO
G
« • •
• • •
C
L(M) o:
H
G
F(E)0
J
. . .
M
• • •
« • •
• • •
• • •
R
• • •
Pr.III.
K
J
L(M)0
L
M
• • •
• • •
• • •
g(0
M
• • •
• • •
• • •
• « •
• • •
• • •
Pr.I.
N
P
Q(R)0
P
• • •
R
J(M)0
Q
R
• * •
L(M)0
R
• • •
• • •
M
• • •
• • •
• • •
• • •
Pr.II.
S
• • •
V
• • •
R(f)0
T
S
(V)
• • •
gO
U
V
T(S)0
V
• • •
• • •
• • •
f
• • •
J(M)0
w
• • •
Y
S(V)0
X
w
Z(Y)0
•
Y
• • •
• • •
V
a(f)0
Z
Y
• • •
c(V)0
a
• • •
• « •
f
• • •
J(M)0
b
a
d(c)0
c
. . .
a
(f)
• • •
RO
d
c
(a)
(f)o
e
f
h(g)0
1
f
. . .
• • ■
• • •
• • •
• • •
• • •
M
R
JO
g
f
• • •
• • •
• • •
R(M)0
h
g
(f)
do
I2I0 A MISCELLANY
pose as follows: "For a whole-day, he who first wins 28
games, or who gets 18 ahead, wins the match: for a half-
day, he who first wins 14 games, or who gets 9 ahead,
wins the match."
6. Concluding remarks.
Let it not be supposed that, in thus proposing to make
these Tournaments a game of pure skill (like chess) in-
stead of a game of mixed skill and chance (like whist), I
am altogether eliminating the element of luck, and mak-
ing it possible to predict the prize-winners, so that no one
else would care to enter. The "chances of the board"
would still exist in full force: it would not at all follow,
because a Player was reputed best, that he was certain of
the I St prize: a thousand accidents might occur to pre-
vent his playing best: the 4th best, 5th best, or even a
worst Player, ,need not despair of winning even the ist
prize.
Nor, again, let it be supposed that the present system,
which allows an inferior player a chance of the 2nd prize,
even though he fails to play above his reputation, is more
attractive than one which, in such a case, gives him no
hope. Let us compare the two systems, as to the attrac-
tions they hold out to (say) the 5th best Player in a Tour-
nament of 32, with 3 prizes. The present system says, "If
you play up to your reputation, your chance of a prize is
about i/4th; and even if, by great luck and painstaking,
you play 2nd or 3rd best, it never rises above a half." My
system says, "It is admitted that, if you only play up to
your reputation, you will get nothing: but, if you play 2nd
or 3rd best, you are certain of the proper prize." Thus,
the one system offers a chance of i/4th, where the other
offers nothing; and a chance of a half, where the other
offers certainty. I am inclined to think the second the
more attractive of the two.
WISE WORDS ABOUT LETTER WRITING I2II
If, however, it be thought that, under the proposed sys-
tem, the very inferior Players would feel so hopeless of a
prize that they would not enter a Tournament, this can
easily be remedied by a process of handicapping, as is
usual in races, &c. This would give every one a reason-
able hope of a prize, and therefore a sufficient motive for
entering.
The proposed form of Tournament, though lasting a
shorter time than the present one, has a great many more
contests going on at once, and consequently furnishes the
spectacle-loving public with a great deal more to look at.
EIGHT OR NINE WISE WORDS
ABOUT LETTER WRITING
I. On Stamp-Cases
Some American writer has said "the snakes in this dis-
trict may be divided into one species — the venomous."
The same principle applies here. Postage-Stamp-Cases
may be divided into one species, the "Wonderland." Imi-
tations of it will soon appear, no doubt: but they cannot
include the two Pictorial Surprises, which are copyright.
You don't see why I call them "Surprises" ? Well, take
the Case in your left-hand, and regard it attentively. You
see Alice nursing the Duchess's Baby? (An entirely new
corribination, by the way: It doesn't occur in the book.)
Now, with your right thumb and forefinger, lay hold of
the little book, and suddenly pull it out. The Baby has
turned into a Pig! If that doesn't surprise you, why, I
suppose you wouldn't be surprised if your own Mother-in-
law suddenly turned into a Gyroscope!
I2I2 A MISCELLANY
This Case is not intended to carry about in your pocket.
Far from it. People seldom want any other Stamps, on
an emergency, than Penny-Stamps for Letters, Sixpenny-
Stamps for Telegrams, and a bit of Stamp-edging for cut
fingers (it makes capital sticking-plaster, and will stand
three or four washings, cautiously conducted) : and all
these are easily carried in a purse or pocket-book. No,
this is meant to haunt your envelope-case, or wherever
you keep your writing-materials. What made me invent
it was the constantly wanting Stamps of other values, for
foreign Letters, Parcel Post, etc., and finding it very both-
ersome to get at the kind I wanted in a hurry. Since I
have possessed a "Wonderland Stamp-Case," life has been
bright and peaceful, and I have used no other. I believe
the Queen's laundress uses no other.
Each of the pockets will hold 6 stamps, comfortably. I
would recommend you to arrange the 6, before putting
them in, something like a bouquet^ making them lean to
the right and to the left alternately: thus there will al-
ways be a free corner to get hold of, so as to take them
out, quickly and easily, one by one: otherwise you will
find them apt to come out two or three at a time.
According to my experience, the 5^., 9^., and is. Stamps
are hardly ever wanted, though I have constantly to re-
plenish all the other pockets. If your experience agrees
with mine, you may find it convenient to keep only a
couple (say) of each of these 3 kinds, in the i^. pocket,
and to fill the other 2 pockets with extra id. stamps.
2. How TO BEGIN A LeTTER
If the Letter is to be in answer to another, begin by
getting out that other letter and reading it through, in
order to refresh your memory, as to what it is you have
to answer, and as to your correspondent's present address
WISE WORDS ABOUT LETTER WRITING 1213
(otherwise you will be sending your letter to his regular
address in London^ though he has been careful in writing
to give you his Torquay address in full).
Next, Address and Stamp the Envelope. "What! Be-
fore writing the Letter?'' Most certainly. And I'll tell you
what will happen if you don't. You will go on writing
till the last moment, and, just in the middle of the last
sentence, you will become aware that "time's up!" Then
comes the hurried wind-up — the wildly-scrawled signa-
ture— the hastily-fastened envelope, which comes open in
the post — the address, a mere hieroglyphic — the horrible
discovery that you've forgotten to replenish your Stamp-
Case — the frantic appeal, to every one in the house, to
lend you a Stamp — the headlong rush to the Post Office,
arriving, hot and gasping, just after the box has closed —
and finally, a week afterwards, the return of the Letter,
from the Dead-Letter Office, marked "address illegible"!
Next, put your own address, in full, at the top of the
note-sheet. It is an aggravating thing — I speak from bitter
experience — when a friend, staying at some new address,
heads his letter "Dover," simply, assuming that you can
get the rest of the address from his previous letter, which
perhaps you have destroyed.
Next, put the date in full. It is another aggravating
thing, when you wish, years afterwards, to arrange a series
of letters, to find them dated "Feb. 17," "Aug. 2," without
any year to guide you as to which comes first. And never,
never, dear Madam (N.B. this remark is addressed to
ladies only: no man would ever do such a thing), put
"Wednesday," simply, as the date!
"That way madness lies."
3. How TO GO ON WITH A LeTTER
Here is a golden Rule to begin with. Write legibly.
I2I4 A MISCELLANY
The average temper o£ the human race would be per-
ceptibly sweetened, i£ everybody obeyed this Rule! A
great deal of the bad writing in the world comes simply
from writing too quic\ly. Of course you reply, "I do it
to save timer A very good object, no doubt: but what
right have you to do it at your friend's expense? Isn't
his time as valuable as yours ? Years ago, I used to receive
letters from a friend — and very interesting letters too —
written in one of the most atrocious hands ever invented.
It generally took me about a wee\ to read one of his letters.
I used to carry it about in my pocket, and take it out at
leisure times, to puzzle over the riddles which composed
it — holding it in different positions, and at difJerent dis-
tances, till at last the meaning of some hopeless scrawl
would flash upon me, when I at once wrote down the
English under it; and, when several had been thus
guessed, the context would help with the others, till at
last the whole series of hieroglyphics was deciphered. If
all one's friends wrote like that. Life would be entirely
spent in reading their letters!
This Rule applies, specially, to names of people or
places — and most specially to foreign names. I got a letter
once, containing some Russian names, written in the
same hasty scramble in which people often write "yours
sincerely." The context^ of course, didn't help in the least:
and one spelling was just as likely as another, so far as 7
knew: It was necessary to write and tell my friend that
I couldn't read any of them!
My second Rule is, don't fill more than a page and a
half with apologies for not having written sooner!
The best subject, to begin with, is your friend's last let-
ter. Write with the letter open before you. Answer his
questions, and make any remarks his letter suggests. Then
go on to what you want to say yourself. This arrangement
is more courteous, and pleasanter for the reader, than
WISE WORDS ABOUT LETTER WRITING I215
to fill the letter with your own invaluable remarks, and
then hastily answer your friend's questions in a postscript.
Your friend is much more likely to enjoy your wit, after
his own anxiety for information has been satisfied.
In referring to anything your friend has said in his
letter, it is best to quote the exact words, and not to give
a summary of them in your words. A's impression, of
what B has said, expressed in A's words, will never convey
to B the meaning of his own words.
This is specially necessary when some point has arisen
as to which the two correspondents do not quite agree.
There ought to be no opening for such writing as "You
are quite mistaken in thinking I said so-and-so. It was
not in the least my meaning, &c., &c.," which tends to
make a correspondence last for a life-time.
A few more Rules may fitly be given here, for cor-
respondence that has unfortunately become controversial.
One is, dont\repeat yourself. When once you have said
your say, fully and clearly, on a certain point, and have
failed to convince your friend, drop that subject: to repeat
your arguments, all over again, will simply lead to his
doing the same; and so you will go on, like a Circulating
Decimal. Did you ever \now a Circulating Decimal come
to an end?
Another Rule is, when you have written a letter that
you feel may possibly irritate your friend, however neces-
sary you may have felt it to so express yourself, put it
aside till the next day. Then read it over again, and fancy
it addressed to yourself. This will often lead to your writ-
ing it all over again, taking out a lot of the vinegar and
pepper, and putting in honey instead, and thus making
a much more palatable dish of it! If, when you have done
your best to write inoffensively, you still feel that it will
probably lead to further controversy, \eep a copy of it.
I2l6
A MISCELLANY
There is very little use, months afterwards, in pleading
"I am almost sure I never expressed myself as you say:
to the best of my recollection I said so-and-so." Far better
to be able to write "I did not express myself so: these are
the words I used."
My fifth Rule is, if your friend makes a severe remark,
either leave it unnoticed, or make your reply distinctly
less severe: and if he makes a friendly remark, tending
towards "making up" the little difference that has arisen
between you, let your reply be distinctly more friendly.
If, in picking a quarrel, each party declined to go more
than three-eighths of the way, and if, in making friends,
each was ready to go fLve-eighths of the way — why, there
would be more reconciliations than quarrels! Which is
like the Irishman's remonstrance to his gad-about daugh-
ter— "Shure, you're always goin' out! You go out three
times, for warist that you come in!"
My sixth Rule (and my last remark about controversial
correspondence) is, don't try to have the last word! How
many a controversy would be nipped in the bud, if each
was anxious to let the other have the last word! Never
mind how telling a rejoinder you leave unuttered: never
mind your friend's supposing that you are silent from lack
of anything to say: let the thing drop, as soon as it is
possible without discourtesy: remember "speech is silvern,
but silence is golden"! (N.B. — If you are a gentleman,
and your friend a lady, this Rule is superfluous: you
wont get the last wordi)
My seventh Rule is, if it should ever occur to you to
write, jestingly, in dispraise of your friend, be sure you
exaggerate enough to make the jesting obvious: a word
spoken in jest, but taken as earnest, may lead to very seri-
ous consequences. I have known it to lead to the breaking-
pflf of a friendship. Suppose, for instance, you wish to
WISE WORDS ABOUT LETTER WRITING I217
remind your friend of a sovereign you have lent him,
which he has forgotten to repay — you might quite mean
the words "I mention it, as you seem to have a con-
veniently bad memory for debts," in jest; yet there would
be nothing to wonder at if he took offence at that way of
putting it. But, suppose you wrote "Long observation of
your career, as a pickpocket and a burglar, has convinced
me that my one lingering hope, for recovering that sover-
eign I lent you, is to say Tay up, or FU summons yer!' "
he would indeed be a matter-of-fact friend if he took that
as seriously meant!
My eighth Rule. When you say, in your letter, "I en-
close cheque for ;/^5," or "I enclose John's letter for you
to see," leave off writing for a moment — go and get the
document referred to — and put it into the envelope. Other-
wise, you are pretty certain to find it lying about, after
the Post has gone!
My ninth Rule. When you get to the end of a note-
sheet, and find you have more to say, take another piece
of paper — a whole sheet, or a scrap, as the case may de-
mand: but whatever you do, dont cross! Remember the
old proverb ''Cross-writing makes cross reading!' "The
old proverb?" you say, inquiringly. ''How old?" Well,
not so very ancient, I must confess. In fact, I'm afraid
I invented it while writing this paragraph! Still, you
know, "old" is a comparative term. I think you would
be quite justified in addressing a chicken, just out of
the shell, as "Old boy!", wJien compared with another
chicken, that was only half -out!
4. How TO End a Letter
If doubtful whether to end with "yours faithfully," or
''yours truly," or "your most truly," &c. (there are at
least a dozen varieties, before you reach "yours affection-
I2l8 A MISCELLANY
ately"), refer to your correspondent's last letter, and make
your winding-up at least as friendly as his: in fact, even
if a shade more friendly, it will do no harm!
A Postcript is a very useful invention: but it is not
meant (as so many ladies suppose) to contain the real
gist of the letter: it serves rather to throw into the shade
any little matter we do not wish to make a fuss about.
For example, your friend had promised to execute a
commission for you in town, but forgot it, thereby put-
ting you to great inconvenience: and he now writes to
apologize for his negligence. It would be cruel, and need-
lessly crushing, to make it the main subject of your reply.
How much more gracefully it comes in thus! "P.S. Don't
distress yourself any more about having omitted that little
matter in town. I won't deny that it did put my plans out
a little, at the time: but it's all right now. I often forget
things, myself: and *those, who live in glass-houses,
mustn't throw stones,' you know!"
When you take your letters to the Post, carry them in
your hand. If ygu put them in your pocket you will take
a long country-walk (I speak from experience), passing
the Post-Office twice^ going and returning, and, when you
get home, will find them still in your pocket.
5. On Registering Correspondence
Let me recommend you to keep a record of Letters
Received and Sent. I have kept one for many years, and
have found it of the greatest possible service, in many
ways : it secures my answering Letters, however long they
have to wait; it enables me to refer, for my own guidance,
to the details of previous correspondence, though the ac-
tual Letters may have been destroyed long ago ; and, m.ost
valuable feature of all, if any difficulty arises, years after-
wards, in connection with a half-forgotten correspond-
WISE WORDS ABOUT LETTER WRITING I219
ence, it enables me to say, with confidence, "I did not
tell you that he was 'an invaluable servant in every way/
and that you couldn't 'trust him too much.' I have a
precis of my letter. What I said was 'he is a valuable
servant in many ways, but dont trust him too much.' So,
if he's cheated you, you really must not hold me respon-
sible for it!"
I will now give you a few simple Rules for making,
and keeping a Letter-Register.
Get a blank book, containing (say) 200 leaves, about
4 inches wide and 7 high. It should be well fastened into
its cover, as it will have to be opened and shut hundreds
of times. Have a line ruled, in red ink, down each margin
of every page, an inch off the edge (the margin should
be wide enough to contain a number of 5 digits, easily:
/ manage with a % inch margin: but, unless you write
very small you will find an inch more comfortable).
Write a precis of each Letter, received or sent, in •
chronological order. Let the entry of a "received" Letter
reach from the left-hand edge to the right-hand marginal
line; and the entry of a "sent" Letter from the left-hand
marginal line to the right-hand edge. Thus the two kinds
will be quite distinct, and you can easily hunt through
the "received" Letters by themselves, without being both-
ered with the "sent" Letters; and vice versa.
Use the right-hand pages only: and, when you come to
the end of the book, turn it upside-down, and begin at
the other end, still using right-hand pages. You will find
this much more comfortable than using left-hand pages.
You will find it convenient to write, at the top of every
sheet of a "received" Letter, its Register-Number in full.
I will now give a few (ideal) specimen pages of my
Letter-Register, and make a few remarks on them: after
which I think you will find it easy enough to manage
one for yourself.
1220
29217
(217)
sendg,
]> a
(218)
grand
(219)
**Grand
to borr
A MISCELLANY
/90.
Ap. I. (Tu) Jones y Mrs, am
as present from self and Mr.
white elephant.
do. TVilkins & Co. bill, for
piano, £175 IOJ-. 6d. [pd
do. Scareharriy H, [writes from
Hotel, Monte Carlo'*] asking
ow £50 for a few weeks (!)
218
246
23514
218
228
(223)
G. A^.
dressed
Very
(220) do. Scareham^ H, would
know object^ for wh loan is
and security offered.
(221) Ap. 3. Wilkins & Co.
vious letter, now before me,
undertook to supply one for
decling to pay more.
27518
225
28743
221, 2
(222) do. Cheetham £5? Sharp,
written 221 — enclosing previo
ter — is law on my side.^
Ap. 4. Manager., Goods Statn^
R. White Elephant arrived, ad-
to you — send for it at once —
savage.'
like to
asked,
m pre-
you
£120:
have
us let-
[
226
29225
217
230
223
/90.
(225) Ap. 4 (F) JoneSy Mrs. th
but no room for it at present, am
ing it to Zoological Gardens.
(226) do. Manager^ Goods Sta
N. R. please deliver, to bearer
note, case containg White Ele-
addressed to me.
anks,
send-
fn, G.
of this
phant
WISE WORDS ABOUT LETTER WRITING I22I
223
229
(228)
misquot
is £18
(229)
case de
Port—
quet —
225
O
(231)
joke/
29233
242
(234)
2 or 3
recevd
& Co.
234
239
228
240
(227) do. Director ZooL Garde
closing above note to R. W. Ma
call for valuable animal, prese
Gardens.
Ap. 8. Cheetham & Sharp, you
e enclosed letter, limit named
o.
Ap. 9. Directory Zoo. Gardens.
livered to us contained i doz.
consumed at Directors' Ban-
many thanks.
(230) do. T JoneSj Mrs. why
doz. of Port a *White Elephant'?
do. T JoneSy Mrs. 'it was a
ns. (en-
nager)
nted to
222
237
227
230
call a
/90.
(233) Ap. 10 (Th) Page & Co.
Macaulay's Essays and ''Jane
(cheap edtn).
O
do. y^unt Jemina — invitg for
days after the 15th. [
do. Lon. and West. Bk. have
£250, pd to yr Acct fm Parkins
Calcutta. [en
(236) do. Aunt Jemina — can
possibly come this month, will
when able.
(237) Ap. II. Cheetham and
turn letter enclosed to you.
orderg
Eyre"
236
not
write
[
Co. re-
[X
1222
A MISCELLANY
245
(238) do. Morton, Philip. Co
lend me Browning s Dramati
sonae" for a day or 2?
uld you
s Per-
(239)
ing hou
"136,
Ap. 14. Aunt Jemina, leav-
se at end of month: address
Royal Avenue, Bath." [
236
(240)
returng
Ap. 15. Cheetham and Co.,
letter as reqd, bill 6/6/8. [
237
244
29242
/90.
Ap. 15. (Tu) Page & Co. bill
ks, as ordered, 15/6 [
(242)
for boo
] 233
>
(243)
do. 1[ do. books
J 247
240
248
(244) do. Cheetham and Co. c
derstand the 6/8 — what is £6
an un-
for?
(245)
matis
Ap. 17. 1[ Morton, P. ''Dra-
Pefsonae,'' as asked for. [retd
238
249
221
250
(246) do. Wilkins and Co. w
bill, 175/10/6, and ch. for do.
ith
en
243
(247) do. Page and Co. bill,
postal J 107258 for 15/- and
15/6,
6 stps.
(248)
was a
Ap. 18. Cheetham and Co. it
^'clerical error'' (!)
244
245
(249) Ap. 19. Morton, P. retu
Browning with many thanks.
rng
(250)
bill.
do. Wilkins and Co. receptd
246
I begin each page by putting, at the top left-hand corner,
WISE WORDS ABOUT LETTER WRITING I223
the next entry-number I am going to use, in full (the last
3 digits of each entry-number are enough afterwards);
and I put the date of the year, at the top, in the centre.
I begin each entry with the last 3 digits of the entry-
number, enclosed in an oval (this is difficult to reproduce
in print, so I have put round-parentheses here). Then, for
the first entry in each page, I put the day of the month
and the day of the week: afterwards, "do." is enough
for the month-day, till it changes: I do not repeat the
weekday.
Next, if the entry is wo/ a letter, I put a symbol for
"parcel" (see Nos. 243, 245) or "telegram" (see Nos. 230,
231) as the case may be.
Next, the name of the person, underlined (indicated
here by italics).
If an entry needs special further attention, I put [ at
the end: and, when it has been attended to, I fill in the
appropriate symbol, cg.^ in No. 218, it showed that the
bill had to be paid; in No. 222, that an answer was really
needed (the "x" means "attended to") ; in No. 234, that
I owed the old lady a visit; in No. 235, that the item had
to be entered in my account book ; in No. 236, that I must
not forget to write; in No. 239, that the address had to
be entered in my address-book; in No. 245, that the book
had to be returned.
I give each entry the space of 2 lines, whether it fills
them or not, in order to have room for references. And,
at the foot of each page I leave 2 or 3 lines blanl{ (often
useful afterwards for entering omitted Letters) and miss
one or 2 numbers before I begin the next page.
At any odd moments of leisure, I "make up" the entry-
book, in various ways, as follows: —
(i) I draw a second line, at the right-hand end of the
"received" entries, and at the left-hand end of the "sent"
1224 A MISCELLANY
entries. This I usually do pretty well "up to date." In my
Register the first line is red^ the second blue: here I dis-
tinguish them by making the first thin, and the second
(2) Beginning with the last entry, and going back-
wards, I read over the names till I recognize one as hav-
ing occurred already : I then link the two entries together,
by giving the one, that comes first in chronological order,
a "foot-reference" (see Nos. 217, 225). I do not keep this
"up to date," but leave it till there are 4 or 5 pages to be
done. I work back till I come among entries that are
all supplied with "foot-references," when I once more
glance through the last few pages, to see if there are any
entries not yet supplied with head-references : their prede-
cessors may need a special search. If an entry is con-
nected, in subject, with another under a different name,
I link them by cross-references, distinguished from the
head- and foot-references by being written further from
the marginhl line (see No. 229). When 2 consecutive
entries have the same name, and are both of the same
kind {i,e,, both "received" or both "sent") I bracket them
(see Nos. 242, 243); if of different kinds, I link them
with the symbol used for Nos. 219, 220.
(3) Beginning at the earliest entry not yet done with,
and going forwards, I cross out every entry that has got
a head- and foot-reference, and is done with, by continu-
ing the extra line through it (see Nos. 221, 223, 225).
Thus, wherever a brea\ occurs in this extra line, it shows
there is some matter still needing attention. I do not keep
this anything Hke "up to date," but leave it till there are
30 or 40 pages to look through at a time. When the first
page in the volume is thus completely crossed out, I put
a mark at the foot of the page to indicate this; and so
with pages 2, 3, &c. Hence, whenever I do this part of the
WHAT THE TORTOISE SAID TO ACHILLES 1225
"making-up," I need not begin at the beginning of the
volume, but only at the earliest page that has not got this
mar\.
All this looks very complicated, when stated at full
length: but you will find it perfectly simple, when you
have had a little practice, and will come to regard the
"making-up" as a pleasant occupation for a rainy day,
or at any time that you feel disinclined for more severe
mental work. In the Game of Whist, Hoyle gives us one
golden Rule, "When in doubt, win the trick" — I find that
Rule admirable for real life: when in doubt what to do,
I "make-up" my Letter-Register!
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»««««««««««««<«
WHAT THE TORTOISE
SAID TO ACHILLES
Achilles had overtaken the Tortoise, and had seated
himself comfortably on its back.
"So you've got to the end of our race-course?" said the
Tortoise. "Even though it does consist of an infinite series
of distances? I thought some wiseacre or other had proved
that the thing couldn't be done?"
"It can be done," said Achilles. "It has been done! Sol-
vitur ambulando. You see the distances were constantly
diminishing: and so — "
"But if they had been constantly increasing?'' the Tor-
toise interrupted. "How then?"
"Then I shouldn't be here^'' Achilles modestly replied;
"and you would have got several times round the world,
by this time!"
1226 A MISCELLANY
"You flatter me — flatten^ I mean," said the Tortoise;
"for you are a heavy weight, and no mistake! Well now,
would you like to hear of a race-course, that most people
fancy they can get to the end of in two or three steps,
while it really consists of an infinite number of distances,
each one longer than the previous one?"
"Very much indeed!" said the Grecian warrior, as he
drew from his helmet (few Grecian warriors possessed
poc\ets in those days) an enormous note-book and a pen-
cil. "Proceed! And speak slowly^ please! Short-hand isn't
invented yet!"
"That beautiful First Proposition of Euclid!" the Tor-
toise murmured dreamily. "You admire Euclid?"
"Passionately! So far, at least, as one can admire a
treatise that won't be oublished for some centuries to
come!
"Well, now, let's take a little bit of the argument in
that First Proposition — just two steps, and the conclusion
drawn from them. Kindly enter them in your note-book-
And, in order to refer to them conveniently, let's call
them Ay 5, and Z:
{A) Things that are equal to the same are equal to
each other.
(B) The two sides of this Triangle are things that are
equal to the same.
(Z) The two sides of this Triangle are equal to each
other.
"Readers of Euclid will grant, I suppose, that Z follows
logically from A and 5, so that any one who accepts A
and B as true, must accept Z as true?"
"Undoubtedly! The youngest child in a High School —
as soon as High Schools are invented, which will not be
till some two thousand years later — will grant thatT
"And if some reader had not yet accepted A and B as
WHAT THE TORTOISE SAID TO ACHILLES 1227
true, he might still accept the Sequence as a valid one, I
suppose ? "
"No doubt such a reader might exist. He might say 'I
accept as true the Hypothetical Proposition that, if A and
B be true, Z must be true; but I dont accept A and B
as true/ Such a reader would do wisely in abandoning
Euclid, and taking to football."
"And might there not also be some reader who would
say 'I accept A and B as true, but I dont accept the
Hypothetical'?"
"Certainly there might. He^ also, had better take to
football."
"And neither of these readers," the Tortoise continued,
"is as yet under any logical necessity to accept Z as true?"
"Quite so," Achilles assented.
"Well, now, I want you to consider me as a reader of
the second kind, and to force me, logically, to accept Z
as true."
"A tortoise playing football would be — " Achilles was
beginning.
" — an anomaly, of course," the Tortoise hastily inter-
rupted. "Don't wander from the point. Let's have Z first,
and football afterwards!"
"I'm to force you to accept Z, am I?" Achilles said
musingly. "And your present position is that you accept
■A and 5, but you dont accept the Hypothetical — "
"Let's call it C," said the Tortoise.
" — but you don't accept:
(C) If A and B are true, Z must be true."
"That is my present position," said the Tortoise.
"Then I must ask you to accept C."
"I'll do so," said the Tortoise, "as soon as you've en-
tered it in that note-book of yours. What else have you
got in it?"
1228 A MISCELLANY
"Only a few memoranda," said Achilles, nervously
fluttering the leaves: "a few memoranda of — of the bat-
tles in which I have distinguished myself!"
"Plenty of blank leaves, I see!" the Tortoise cheerily
remarked. "We shall need them alir (Achilles shud-
dered.) "Now write as I dictate:
{A) Things that are equal to the same are equal to
each other.
(B) The two sides of this triangle are things that are
equal to the same.
(C) If A and B are true, Z must be true.
(Z) The two sides of this Triangle are equal to each
other."
"You should call it D, not Z," said Achilles. "It comes
next to the other three. If you accept A and B and C,
you must accept Z."
"And why must /?"
"Because it follows logically from them. If A and B and
C are true, Z must be true. You don't dispute that^ I
imagine?"
"If A and B and C are true, Z must be true," the Tor-
toise thoughtfully repeated. "That's another Hypothetical,
isn't it? And, if I failed to see its truth, I might accept
A and B and C, and still not accept Z, mightn't I?"
"You might," the candid hero admitted; "though such
obtuseness would certainly be phenomenal. Still, the event
is possible. So I must ask you to grant one more Hypo-
thetical."
"Very good. I'm quite willing to grant it, as soon as
you've written it down. We will call it
(D) If A and B and C are true, Z must be true.
"Have you entered that in your note-book?"
"I haver Achilles joyfully exclaimed, as he ran the I
pencil into its sheath. "And at last we've got to the end
WHAT THE TORTOISE SAID TO ACHILLES I229
of this ideal race-course! Now that you accept A and B
and C and D, of course you accept Z."
"Do I?" said the Tortoise innocently. "Let's make that
quite clear. I accept A and B and C and D. Suppose I
still refuse to accept Z?"
"Then Logic would take you by the throat, and force
you to do it!" Achilles triumphantly replied. "Logic
would tell you 'You can't help yourself. Now that you've
accepted A and B and C and D, you must accept Z!' So
you've no choice, you see."
"Whatever Logic is good enough to tell me is worth
writing down^' said the Tortoise. "So enter it in your
book, please. We will call it
(E) If A and B and C and D are true, Z must be true.
"Until I've granted that^ of course, I needn't grant Z. So
it's quite a necessary step, you see?"
"I see," said Achilles; and there was a touch of sadness
in his tone.
itere the narrator, having pressing business at the
Bank, was obliged to leave the happy pair, and did not
again pass the spot until some months afterwards. When
he did so, Achilles was still seated on the back of the
much-enduring Tortoise, and was writing in his note-
book, which appeared to be nearly full. The Tortoise was
saying "Have you got that last step written down? Un-
less I've lost count, that makes a thousand and one. There
are several millions more to come. And would you mind,
as a personal favour — considering what a lot of instruc-
tion this colloquy of ours will provide for the Logicians
of the Nineteenth Century — would you mind adopting a
pun that my cousin the Mock-Turtle will then make, and
allowing yourself to be re-named Taught-Us?"
"As you please!" rephed the weary warrior, in the hol-
low tones of despair, as he buried his face in his hands.
1230 A MISCELLANY
"Provided that you^ for your part, will adopt a pun the.j
Mock-Turtle never made, and allow yourself to be re-
named A Kill-Ease!"
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»:<«««««««««««««
THE TWO CLOCKS
Which is better, a clock that is right only once a year,
or a clock that is right twice every day? "The latter," you
reply, "unquestionably." Very good, now attend.
I have two clocks: one doesn't go at ally and the other
loses a minute a day: which would you prefer? "The
losing one," you answer, "without a doubt." Now ob-
serve: the one which loses a minute a day has to lose
twelve hours, or seven hundred and twenty minutes be-
fore it is right again, consequently it is only right once
in two years, whereas the other is evidently right as often
as the time it points to come round, which happens twice
a day.
So you've contradicted yourself once.
"Ah, but," you say, "what's the use of its being right
twice a day, if I can't tell when the time comes?"
Why, suppose the clock points to eight o'clock, don't
you see that the clock is right at eight o'clock? Conse-
quently, when eight o'clock comes round your clock is
right.
"Yes, I see that^'' you reply.
Very good, then you've contradicted yourself twice:
now get out of the difficulty as best you can, and don't
contradict yourself again if you can help it.
You might go on to ask, "How am I to know when
eight o'clock does come? My clock will not tell me." Be
PHOTOGRAPHY EXTRAORDINARY I23I
patient: you know that when eight o'clock comes your
clock is right, very good; then your rule is this: keep your
eye fixed on your clock, and the very moment it is right
it will be eight o'clock. "But — >" you say. There, that'll
do; the more you argue the farther you get from the
point, so it will be as well to stop.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»x««««««««««««<<<
PHOTOGRAPHY EXTRAORDINARY
The recent extraordinary discovery in Photography, as
applied to the operations of the mind, has reduced the
art of novel-writing to the merest mechanical labour. We
have been kindly permitted by the artist to be present
during one of his experiments; but as the invention has
not yet been given to the world, we are only at liberty
to relate the results, suppressing all details of chemicals
and manipulation.
The operator began by stating that the ideas of the
feeblest intellect, when once received on properly pre-
pared paper, could be "developed" up to any required
degree of intensity. On hearing our wish that he would
begin with an extreme case, he obligingly summoned a
young man from an adjoining room, who appeared to be
of the very weakest possible physical and mental powers.
On being asked what we thought of him we candidly
confessed that he seemed incapable of anything but sleep;
our friend cordially assented to this opinion.
The machine being in position, and a mesmeric rap-
port established between the mind of the patient and the
object glass, the young man was asked whether he wished
to say anything; he feebly replied "Nothing." He was
1232 A MISCELLANY
then asked what he was thinking of, and the answer, as
before, was "Nothing." The artist on this pronounced
him to be in a most satisfactory state, and at once com-
menced the operation.
After the paper had been exposed for the requisite
time, it was removed and submitted to our inspection;
we found it to be covered with faint and almost illegible
characters. A closer scrutiny revealed the following:
"The eve was soft and dewy mild; a zephyr whispered
in the lofty glade, and a few light drops of rain cooled
the thirsty soil. At a slow amble, along the primrose-
bordered path rode a gentle-looking and amiable youth,
holding a light cane in his delicate hand; the pony moved
gracefully beneath him, inhaling as it went the fragrance
of the roadside flowers; the calm smile, and languid eyes,
so admirably harmonising with the fair features of the
rider, showed the even tenor of his thoughts. With a sweet
though feeble voice, he plaintively murmured out the
gentle regrets that clouded his breast:
^ Alas! she would not hear my prayer!
Yet it were rash to tear my hair;
Disfigured, I should be less fair.
*She was unwise, I may say blind;
Once she was lovingly inclined;
Some circumstance has changed her mind.'
There was a moment's silence; the pony stumbled over
a stone in the path, and unseated his rider. A crash was
heard among the dried leaves; the youth arose; a slight
bruise on his left shoulder, and a disarrangement of his
cravat, were the only traces that remained of this trifling
accident." ^
"This," we remarked, as we returned the paper, "be-
longs apparently to the milk-and-water School of Novels."
PHOTOGRAPHY EXTRAORDINARY I233
"You are quite right," our friend replied, "and, in its
present state, it is, of course, utterly unsaleable in the
present day: we shall find, however, that the next stage
of development will remove it into the strong-minded or
Matter-of-Fact School." After dipping it into various
acids, he again submitted it to us : it had now become the
following:
"The evening was of the ordinary character, barometer
at 'change'; a wind was getting up in the wood, and some
rain was beginning to fall; a bad look-out for the farmers.
A gentleman approached along the bridle-road, carrying
a stout knobbed stick in his hand, and mounted on a
serviceable nag, possibly worth some ^40 or so; there was
a settled business-like expression on the rider's face, and
he whistled as he rode; he seemed to be hunting for
rhymes in his head, and at length repeated, in a satisfied
tone, the following composition :
*Well! so my ofJer was no go!
She might do worse, I told her so;
She was a fool to answer "No."
^However, things are as they stood;
Nor would I have her if I could,
For there are plenty more as good.'
At this moment the horse set his foot in a hole, and rolled
over; his rider rose with difficulty; he had sustained sev-
eral severe bruises and fractured two ribs; it was some
time before he forgot that unlucky day."
We returned this with the strongest expression of ad-
miration, and requested that it might now be developed
to the highest possible degree. Our friend readily con-
sented, and shortly presented us with the result, which
he informed us belonged to the Spasmodic or German
1234 A MISCELLANY
School. We perused it with indescribable sensations of
surprise and delight:
"The night was wildly tempestuous — a hurricane raved
through the murky forest — furious torrents of rain lashed
the groaning earth. With a headling rush — down a
precipitous mountain gorge — dashed a mounted horse-
man armed to the teeth — his horse bounded beneath him
at a mad gallop, snorting fire from its distended nostrils
as it flew. The rider's knotted brows — rolling eyeballs —
and clenched teeth — expressed the intense agony of his
mind — weird visions loomed upon his burning brain —
while with a mad yell he poured forth the torrent of his
boiling passion:
Tirebrands and daggers! hope hath fled!
To atoms dash the doubly dead!
My brain is fire — my heart is lead!
*Her soul is flint, and what am I?
Scorch'd by her fierce, relentless eye.
Nothingness is my destiny!'
There was a moment's pause. Horror! his path ended in
a fathomless abyss. ... A rush — a flash — a crash — all was
over. Three drops of blood, two teeth, and a stirrup were
all that remained to tell where the wild horseman met his
doom."
The young man was now recalled to consciousness, and
shown the result of the workings of his mind; he in-
stantly fainted away.
In the present infancy of the art we forbear from fur-
ther comment on this wonderful discovery; but the mind
reels as it contemplates the stupendous addition thus made
to the powers of science, s
Our friend concluded with various minor experiments,
such as working up a passage of Wordsworth into strong.
HINTS FOR ETIQUETTE 1^35
Sterling poetry: the same experiment was tried on a pas-
sage of Byron, at our request, but the paper came out
scorched and bhstered all over by the fiery epithets thus
produced.
As a concluding remark : could this art be applied (we
put the question in the strictest confidence) — could it, we
ask, be applied to the speeches in Parliament? It may be
but a delusion of our heated imagination, but we will still
cling fondly to the idea, and hope against hope.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»;««««««««««<«««
HINTS FOR ETIQUETTE;
OR, DINING OUT MADE EASY
As caterers for the public taste, we can conscientiously
recommend this book to all diners-out who are perfectly
unacquainted with the usages of society. However we
may regret that our author has confined himself to warn-
ing rather than advice, we are bound in justice to say
that nothing here stated will be found to contradict the
habits of the best circles. The following examples exhibit
a depth of penetration and a fullness of experience rarely
met with:
I
In proceeding to the dining-room, the gentleman gives
one arm to the lady he escorts — it is unusual to ofiEer both.
II
The practice of taking soup with the next gentleman
but one is now wisely discontinued; but the custom of
asking your host his opinion of the weather immediately
on the removal of the first course still prevails.
1236
A MISCELLANY
III
To use a fork with your soup, intimating at the same
time to your hostess that you are reserving the spoon for
the beefsteaks, is a practice wholly exploded.
IV
On meat being placed before you, there is no possible
objection to your eating it, if so disposed; still, in all such
delicate cases, be guided entirely by the conduct of those
around you.
V
It is always allov/able to ask for artichoke jelly with
your boiled venison ; however, there are houses where this
is not supplied.
VI
The method of helping roast turkey with two carving-
forks is practicable, but deficient in grace.
VII
We do not recommend the practice of eating cheese
with a knife and fork in one hand, and a spoon and wine-
glass in the other; there is a kind of awkwardness in the
action which no amount of practice can entirely dispel.
VIII
As a general rule, do not kick the shins of the opposite
gentleman under the table, if personally unacquainted
with him; your pleasantry is liable to be misunderstood
— a circumstance at all times unpleasant.
IX
Proposing the health of the boy in buttons immediately
on the removal of the cloth is a custom springing from
A HEMISPHERICAL PROBLEM I237
regard to his tender years, rather than from a strict
adherence to the rules of etiquette.
A HEMISPHERICAL PROBLEM
Half of the world, or nearly so, is always in the light
of the sun: as the world turns round, this hemisphere
of light shifts round too, and passes over each part of it
in succession.
Supposing on Tuesday, it is morning at London; in
another hour it would be Tuesday morning at the west
of England; if the whole world were land we might go
on tracing -^ Tuesday morning, Tuesday morning all the
way round, till in twenty-four hours we get to London
again. But we \now that at London twenty-fours hours
after Tuesday morning it is Wednesday morning. Where,
then, in its passage round the earth, does the day change
its name ? Where does it lose its identity }
Practically there is no difficulty in it, because a great
part of the journey is over water, and what it does out
at sea no one can tell: and besides there are so many
different languages that it would be hopeless to attempt
to trace the name of any one day all the year round. But
is the case inconceivable that the same land and the same
language should continue all round the world? I cannot
see that it is : in that case either ^ there would be no dis-
tinction at all between each successive day, and so week,
month, etc., so that we should have to say, "The Battle
* The best way is to imagine yourself walking round with the
sun and asking the inhabitants as you go, "What morning is this?'* If
you suppose them living all the way around, and all speaking one
language, the difficulty is obvious.
^This is clearly an impossible case, and is only put as an hypothesis.
1238 A MISCELLANY
of Waterloo happened to-day, about two million hours
ago," or some line would have to be fixed where the
change should take place, so that the inhabitants of one
house would wake and say, "Heigh-ho,^ Tuesday morn-
ing!" and the inhabitants of the next (over the line), a
few miles to the west would wake a few minutes after-
wards and say, "Heigh-ho! Wednesday morning!" What
hopeless confusion the people who happened to live on
the line would be in, is not for me to say. There would
be a quarrel every morning as to what, the name of the
day should be. I can imagine no third case, unless every-
body was allowed to choose for themselves, which state of
things would be rather worse than either of the other two.
I am aware that this idea has been started before —
namely, by the unknown author of that beautiful poem
beginning, "If all the world were apple pie," etc.^ The
particular result here discussed, however, does not appear
to have occurred to him, as he confines himself to the diffi-
culties in obtaining drink which would certainly ensue.
^TThe usual exclamation at waking, generally said with a yawn.
^ "If all the world were apple pie,
And all the sea were ink.
And all the trees were bread and cheese.
What should we have to drink?"
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»««««««««««<«««
A SELECTION FROM
SYMBOLIC LOGIC
(Even in his most abstruse worlds on mathematics and
logic, Letvis Carroll could not fully repress his instinct for
nonsense, SYMBOLIC LOGIC, for instance, shows the mind
of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson rather than the whimsical
Lewis Carroll, There would be little logic in offering here
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I239
the entire text of SYMBOLIC LOGIC. Accordingly, the
editors have chosen a single example to represent Carroll
as he appeared in a completely un-Carrollean boo\^
Introduction
TO LEARNERS
The Learner, who wishes to try the question j airly,
whether this Uttle book does, or does not, supply the ma-
terials for a most interesting mental recreation, is earnest-
ly advised to adopt the following Rules : —
(i) Begin at the beginning., and do not allow yourself
to gratify a mere idle curiosity by dipping into the book,
here and there. This would very likely lead to your throw-
ing it aside, with the remark "This is much too hard for
me!", and thus losing the chance of adding a very large
item to your stock of mental delights. This Rule (of not
dipping) is very desirable with other kinds of books —
such as novels, for instance, where you may easily spoil
much of the enjoyment you would otherwise get from
the story, by dipping into it further on, so that what the
author meant to be a pleasant surprise comes to you as
a matter of course. Some people, I know, make a practice
of looking into Vol. Ill first, just to see how the story
ends: and perhaps it is as well just to know that all ends
happily — that the much-persecuted lovers do marry after
all, that he is proved to be quite innocent of the murder,
that the wicked cousin is completely foiled in his plot
and gets the punishment he deserves, and that the rich
uncle in India {Qu. Why in India? Ans, Because, some-
how, uncles never can get rich anywhere else) dies at ex-
actly the right moment — before taking the trouble to read
Vol. 1. This, I say, is just permissible with a novels where
1240 A MISCELLANY
Vol. Ill has a meanings even for those who have not read
the earher part of the story; but, with a scientific book,
it is sheer insanity: you will find the latter part hopelessly
unintelligible, if you read it before reaching it in regular
course.
(2) Don't begin any fresh Chapter, or Section, until
you are certain that you thoroughly understand the whole
book up to that poi^it^ and that you have worked, cor-
rectly, most if not all of the examples which have been
set. So long as you are conscious that all the land you
have passed through is absolutely conquered^ and that
you are leaving no unsolved difficulties behind you, which
will be sure to turn up again later on, your triumphal
progress will be easy and delightful. Otherwise, you will
find your state of puzzlement get worse and worse as
you proceed, till you give up the whole thing in utter
disgust.
(3) When* you come to any passage you don't under-
stand, read it again : if you still don't understand it, read
it (igain: if you fail, even after three readings, very likely
your brain is getting a little tired. In that case, put the
book away, and take to other occupations, and next day,
when you come to it fresh, you will very likely find that
it is quite easy.
(4) If possible, find some genial friend, who will read
the book along with you, and will talk over the difficulties
with you. Tallying is a wonderful smoother-over of dif-
ficulties. When / come upon anything — in Logic or in
any other hard subject — that entirely puzzles me, I find it
a capital plan to talk it over, aloud, even when I am all
alone. One can explain things so clearly to one's self! And
then, you know, one is so patient with one's self: one
never gets irritated at one's own stupidity!
^ If, dear Reader, you will faithfully observe these Rules,
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I24I
and so give my little book a really fair trial, I promise you,
most confidently, that you will find Symbolic Logic to be
one of the most, if not the most, fascinating of mental rec-
reations! In this First Part, I have carefully avoided all
difficulties which seemed to me to be beyond the grasp
of an intelligent child of (say) twelve or fourteen years of
age. I have myself taught most of its contents, vwd voce,
to many children, and have found them take a real intelli-
gent interest in the subject. For those, who succeed in
mastering Part I, and who begin, like Oliver, "asking for
more," I hope to provide, in Part II, some tolerably hard
nuts to crack — nuts that will require all the nut-crackers
they happen to possess!
Mental recreation is a thing that we all of us need for our
mental health; and you may get much healthy enjoyment,
no doubt, from Games, such as Backgammon, Chess, and
the new Game "Halma." But, after all, when you have
made yourself a first-rate player at any one of these
Games, you have nothing real to show for it, as a re-
suit! You enjoyed the Game, and the victory, no doubt, at
the time: but you have' no result that you can treasure up
and get real good out of. And, all the while, you have been
leaving unexplored a perfect mine of wealth. Once mas-
ter the machinery of Symbolic Logic, and you have a men-
tal occupation always at hand, of absorbing interest, and
one that will be of real use to you in any subject you may
take up. It will give you clearness of thought — the ability
to see your way through a puzzle — the habit of arranging
your ideas in an orderly and get-at-able form — and, more
valuable than all, the power to detect fallacies, and to tear
to pieces the flimsy illogical arguments, which you will so
continually encounter in books, in newspapers, in speech-
es, and even in sermons, and which so easily delude those
1242 A MISCELLANY
who have never taken the trouble to master this fascinat-
ing Art. Try it. That is all I ask of you! L. C.
29, Bedford Street, Strand.
February 21, 1896.
Sets of Concrete Propositions, proposed as Premisses for
Sorites. Conclusions to be found.
(i) Babies are illogical; O^^ 3^ ^^
(2) Nobody is despised who can manage a crocodile;
(3) Illogical persons are despised. '^ ^ c n
Univ. "persons"; a = able to manage a crocodile;
b =: babies; c = despised; d := logical, l
(i) My saucepans are the only things I have that are
made of tin;
(2) I find all your presents very useful;
(3) None of my saucepans are of the slightest use.
Univ. "things of mine"; a = made of tin; ^ = my
saucepans; c = useful; d = your presents.
3
(i) No potatoes of mine, that are new, have been boiled;
(2) All my potatoes in this dish are fit to eat;
(3) No unboiled potatoes of mine are fit to eat.
Univ. "my potatoes"; a = boiled; b = eatable;
r = in this dish; d = new.
' 4
(i) There are no Jews in the kitchen;
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I243
(2) No Gentiles say "shpoonj";
(3) My servants are all in the kitchen.
Univ. "persons" ^ = in the kitchen; b = Jews; c = my
servants; d =^ saying "shpoonj."
5
(i) No ducks waltz;
(2) No officers ever decline to waltz;
(3) All my poultry are ducks.
Univ. "creatures"; a = ducks; b = my poultry;
c = officers; d = willing to waltz.
(i) Every one who is sane can do Logic;
(2) No lunatics are fit to serve on a jury;
(3) None of your sons can do Logic.
Univ. "persons"; a = able to do Logic; ^ = fit to serve
on a jury; c = sane; d = your sons.
7
(i) There are no pencils of mine in this box;
(2) No sugar-plums of mine are cigars;
(3) The whole of my property, that is not in this box,
consists of cigars.
Univ. "things of mine"; a = cigars; ^ = in this box;
c = pencils; d = sugar-plums.
8
(i) No experienced person is incompetent;
(2) Jenkins is always blundering;
(3) No competent person is always blundering.
1244
A MISCELLANY
Univ. "persons"; a = always blundering; ^ = com-
petent; c = experienced; d = Jenkins.
(i) No terriers wander among the signs of the zodiac;
(2) Nothing, that does not wander among the signs of
the zodiac, is a comet;
(3) Nothing but a terrier has a curly tail.
Univ. "things"; a = comets; b = curly-tailed; c = ter-
riers; d = wandering among the signs of the zodiac.
10
(i) No one takes in the Times, unless he is well-edu-
cated;
(2) No hedge-hogs can read;
(3) Those who cannot read are not well-educated.
Univ. "creatures"; ^ == able to read; ^ ^ hedge-hogs ;
c = taking in the Times; d = well-educated.
II
(i) All puddings are nice;
(2) This dish is a pudding;
(3) No nice things are wholesome.
Univ. "things"; a = nice; b = puddings;
dish; d = wholesome.
this
12
(i) My gardener is well worth listening to on military
subjects;
(2) No one can remember the battle of Waterloo, unless
he is very old;
(3) Nobody is really worth listening to on military sub-
jects, unless he can remember the battle of Water-
loo.
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I245
Univ. "persons"; <^ = able to remember the battle of
Waterloo; i> = my gardener; r = worth listen-
ing to on military subjects; d = very old.
13
(i) All humming-birds are richly coloured;
(2) No large birds live on honey;
(3) Birds that do not live on honey are dull in colour.
Univ. "birds"; a = humming-birds; b = large;
c = living on honey; d = richly coloured.
14
(i) No Gentiles have hooked noses;
(2) A man who is a good hand at a bargain always makes
money;
(3) No Jew is ever a bad hand at a bargain.
Univ. "persons"; ^ = good hands at a bargain;
b = hook-nosed; c = Jews; d = making money.
(i) All ducks in this village that are branded "B," belong
to Mrs. Bond;
(2) Ducks in this village never wear lace collars, unless
they are branded "B";
(3) Mrs. Bond has no gray ducks in this village.
Univ. "ducks in this village"; ^ = belonging to Mrs.
Bond; b = branded "B"; c = gray; d = wearing
lace collars.
16
(i) All the old articles in this cupboard are cracked;
(2) No jug in this cupboard is new;
1246 A MISCELLANY
(3) Nothing in this cupboard, that is cracked, will hold
water.
Univ. "things in this cupboard"; a= able to hold wa-
ter; ^ =1 cracked; c = jugs; d =: old.
17
(i) All unripe fruit is unwholesome;
(2) All these apples are wholesome;
(3) No fruit, grown in the shade, is ripe.
Univ. "fruit"; a = grown in the shade; b = ripe; c =
these apples; J = wholesome.
18
(i) Puppies, that will not lie still, are always grateful for
the loan of a skipping-rope;
(2) A lame puppy would not say "thank you" if you
oflEered to lend it a skipping-rope.
(3) None but lame puppies ever care to do worsted-work.
Univ. "puppies"; a = caring to do worsted- work;
^ = grateful for the loan of a skipping-rope;
c = lame; d = willing to lie still.
(i) No name in this list is unsuitable for the hero of a
romance;
(2) Names beginning with a vowel are always melodious;
(3) No name is suitable for the hero of a romance, if it
begins with a consonant.
Univ. "names"; a = beginning with a vowel; ^ =: in
this list; c = melodious; d = suitable for the
hero of a romance.
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I247
20
( 1 ) All members of the House of Commons have perfect
self-command;
(2) No M. P., who wears a coronet, should ride in a
donkey-race;
(3) All members of the House of Lords wear coronets.
Univ. "M. P.'s"; ^ = belonging to the House of Com-
mons; ^ = having perfect self-command; c = one
who may ride in a donkey-race; d = wearing
a coronet.
21
(i) No goods in this shop, that have been bought and
paid for, are still on sale;
(2) None of the goods may be carried away, unless la*
beled "sold";
(3) None of the goods are labeled "sold," unloss they
have been bought and paid for.
Univ. "goods in this shop"; ^ = allowed to be carried
away; b = bought and paid for; r = labeled "sold";
^ = on sale.
22
(i) No acrobatic feats, that are not announced in the bills
of a circus, are ever attempted there;
(2) No acrobatic feat is possible, if it involves turning a
quadruple somersault;
(3) No impossible acrobatic feat is ever announced in a
circus bill
Univ. "acrobatic feats"; a = announced in the bills of a
circus; b = attempted in a circus; c = involving the
turning of a quadruple somersault; d =: possible.
1248 A MISCELLANY
(i) Nobody, who really appreciates Beethoven, fails to
keep silence while the Moonlight-Sonata is being
played;
(2) Guinea-pigs are hopelessly ignorant of music;
(3) No one, who is hopelessly ignorant of music, ever
keeps silence while the Moonlight-Sonata is being
played.
Univ. "creatures"; ^ = guinea-pigs ; ^ = hopelessly ig-
norant of music; c = keeping silence while the Moon-
light-Sonata is being played ; d = really
appreciating Beethoven.
24
(i) Coloured flowers are always scented;
(2) I dislike flowers that are not grown in the open air;
(3) No flowers grown in the open air are colourless.
Univ. "flowers"; a = coloured; b = grown in the open
air; c = liked by me; d = scented.
25
(i) Showy talkers think too much of themselves;
(2) No really well-informed people are bad company;
(3) People who think too much of themselves are not
good company.
Univ. "persons"; (^ = good company; Z? = really well-
informed; c = showy talkers; <^ = thinking too
much of one's self.
26
(i) No boys under 12 are admitted to this school as
boarders;
(2) All the industrious boys have red hair;
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC 1249
(3) None of the day-boys learn Greek;
(4) None but those under 12 are idle.
Univ. "boys in this school"; a = boarders; b = indus-
trious; c = learning Greek; ^ = red-haired ;
e = under 12.
27
(i) The only articles of food, that my doctor allows me,
are such as are not very rich;
(2) Nothing that agrees with me is unsuitable for supper;
(3) Wedding-cake is always very rich;
(4) My doctor allows me all articles of food that are suit-
able for supper.
Univ. "articles of food"; a = agreeing with me;
b = allowed by my doctor; c = suitable for supper;
d = very rich; e = wedding-cake.
28
(i) No discussions in our Debating-Club are likely to
rouse the British Lion, so long as they are checked
when they become too noisy;
(2) Discussions, unwisely conducted, endanger the
peacefulness of our Debating-Club;
(3) Discussions, that go on while Tomkins is in the
Chair, are likely to rouse the British Lion;
(4) Discussions in our Debating-Club, when wisely con-
ducted, are always checked when they become too
noisy.
Univ. "discussions in our Debating-Club"; a = checked
when too noisy; b = dangerous to the peacefulness of
our Debating-Club; (T = going on while Tomkins is in
the chair; d = likely to rouse the British Lion;
e = wisely conducted.
1250
A MISCELLANY
29
(i) All my sons are slim;
(2) No child of mine is healthy who takes no exercise;
(3) All gluttons, who are children of mine, are fat;
(4) No daughter of mine takes any exercise.
Univ. "my children"; ^ = fat; ^ = gluttons;
c ^ healthy; d = sons; e = taking exercise.
(i) Things sold in the street are of no great value;
(2) Nothing but rubbish can be had for a song;
(3) Eggs of the Great Auk are very valuable;
(4) It is only what is sold in the streets that is really
rubbish.
Univ. "things"; a = able to be had for a song; b = eggs
of the Great Auk; c = rubbish; d = sold in the
street; e = very valuable.
31
(i) No books sold here have gilt edges, except what are
in the front shop;
(2) All the authorised editions have red labels;
(3) All the books with red labels are priced at 5^. and
upwards;
(4) None but authorised editions are ever placed in the
front shop.
Univ. "books sold here"; ^ := authorised editions;
b = gilt-edged; c = having red labels; <i == in the front
shop; e = priced as 5/. and upwards.
(i) Remedies for bleeding, which fail to check it, are a
mockery;
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I25I
(2) Tincture of Calendula is not to be despised;
(3) Remedies, which will check the bleeding when you
cut your finger, are useful;
(4) All mock remedies for bleeding are despicable.
Univ. "remedies for bleeding"; a = able to check bleed-
ing; ^ = despicable; c = mockeries ; (i = Tincture of
Calendula; ^ = useful when you cut your finger.
33
(i) None of the unnoticed things, met with at sea, are
mermaids;
(2) Things entered in the log, as met with at sea, are sure
to be worth remembering;
(3) / have never met with anything worth remembering,
when on a voyage;
(4) Things met with at sea, that are noticed, are sure to
be recorded in the log.
Univ. "things met with at sea"; a = entered in log;
b = mermaids; c = met with by me; d = noticed;
e = worth remembering.
34
(i) The only books in this library, that I do not recom-
mend for reading, are unhealthy in tone;
(2) The bound books are all well-written;
(3) All the romances are healthy in tone;
(4) I do not recommend you to read any of the unbound
books.
Univ. "books in this library"; (^ = bound; ^ = healthy
in tone; c = recommended by me; d =: romances;
e = well-written.
35
(i) No birds, except ostriches, are 9 feet high;
1252 A MISCELLANY
(2) There are no birds in this aviary that belong to any
one but me;
(3) No ostrich Yivts on mince-pies;
(4) I have no birds less than 9 feet high.
Univ. "birds"; ^ = in this aviary; b = living on mince-
pies; c = my; ^i = 9 feet high; e = ostriches.
36
(i) A plum-pudding, that is not really solid, is mere por-
ridge;
(2) Every plum-pudding, served at my table, has been
boiled in a cloth;
(3) A plum-pudding that is mere porridge is indistin-
guishable from soup;
(4) No plum-puddings are really solid, except what are
served at my table.
Univ. "plum-puddings"; a = boiled in a cloth; b = dis-
tinguishable from soup; c = mere porridge; ^ = really
' solid; e = served at my table.
37
( 1 ) No interesting poems are unpopular among people of
real taste;
(2) No modern poetry is free from affectation;
(3) All your poems are on the subject of soap-bubbles;
(4) No affected poetry is popular among people of real
taste;
(5) No ancient poem is on the subject of soap-bubbles.
Univ. "poems"; a = affected; b = ancient; c = interest-
ing; J == on the subject of soap-bubbles; (f = popular
among people of real taste; h = written by you.
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I253
38
(i) All the fruit at this Show, that fails to get a prize, is
the property of the Committee;
(2) None of my peaches have got prizes;
(3) None of the fruit, sold off in the evening, is unripe;
(4) None of the ripe fruit has been grown in a hot-house;
(5) All fruit, that belongs to the Committee, is sold off
in the evening.
Univ. "fruit at this Show"; ^ = belonging to the Com-
mittee; b = getting prizes; c = grown in a hot-house;
d =1= my peaches; e = ripe; h = sold off in the evening.
39
(i) Promise-breakers are untrustworthy;
(2) Wine-drinkers are very communicative;
(3) A man who keeps his promises is honest;
(4) No teetotalers are pawnbrokers;
(5) One can always trust a very communicative person.
Univ. "persons"; ^ = honest; Z? = pawnbrokers;
r = promise-breakers; ^ = trustworthy ; d* = very
communicative; h = wine-drinkers.
(i) No kitten, that loves fish, is unteachable;
(2) No kitten without a tail will play with a gorilla;
(3) Kittens with whiskers always love fish;
(4) No teachable kitten has green eyes;
(5) No kittens have tails unless they have whiskers.
Univ. "kittens"; a = green-eyed ; ^ = loving fish;
c =: tailed; d = teachable; e = whiskered;
h = willing to play with a gorilla.
1254 A MISCELLANY
(i) All the Eton men in this College play cricket;
(2) None but the Scholars dine at the higher table;
(3) None of the cricketers row;
(4) My friends in this College all come from Eton;
(5) All the Scholars are rowing-men.
Univ. "men in this College"; a = cricketers; b = dining
at the higher table; c = Etonians; d = my friends;
e = rowing-men; h = Scholars.
42
(i) There is no box of mine here that I dare open;
(2) My writing-desk is made of rose- wood;
(3) All my boxes are painted, except what are here;
(4) There is no box of mine that I dare not open, unless
it is^fuU of live scorpions;
(5) All my rose-wood boxes are unpainted. j
Univ. "my boxes"; a = boxes that I dare open;
b = full of live scorpions; c = here; d = made of rose-
wood; e = painted; h = writing-desks.
43
(i) Gentiles have no objection to pork;
(2) Nobody who admires pigsties ever reads Hoggs
poems;
(3) No Mandarin knows Hebrew;
(4) Every one, who does not object to pork, admires pig-
sties;
(5) No Jew is ignorant of Hebrew.
Univ. "persons"; a = admiring pigsties; Z? = Jews;
c = knowing Hebrew; ^ = Mandarins; ^ = objecting
to pork; h = reading Hogg's poems.
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I255
44
(i) All writers, who understand human nature, are
clever;
(2) No one is a true poet unless he can stir the hearts o£
men;
(3) Shakespeare wrote "Hamlet";
(4) No writer, who does not understand human nature,
can stir the hearts of men;
(5) None but a true poet could have written "Hamlet."
Univ. "writers"; (sr = able to stir the hearts of men;
b = clever; c = Shakespeare; d = true poets;
e:= understanding human nature; h = writer
of "Hamlet."
45
(i) I despise anything that cannot be used as a bridge;
(2) Everything, that is worth writing an ode to, would be
a welcome gift to me;
(3) A rainbow will not bear the weight of a wheel-
barrow;
(4) Whatever can be used as a bridge will bear the
weight of a wheel-barrow;
(5) I would not take, as a gift, a thing that I despise.
Univ. "things"; a = able to bear the weight of a wheel-
barrow; b = acceptable to me; c = despised by me;
d =: rainbows; e = useful as a bridge;
h = worth writing an ode to.
46
(i) When I work a Logic-example without grumbling,
you may be sure it is one that I can understand;
1256 A MISCELLANY
(2) These Sorites are not arranged in regular order, like
the examples I am used to;
(3) No easy example ever makes my head ache;
(4) I ca'n't understand examples that are not arranged in
regular order, like those I am used to;
(5) I never grumble at an example, unless it gives me a
headache.
Univ. "Logic-examples w^orked by me"; a = arranged in
regular order, like the examples I am used to ; ^^ = easy ;
(T = grumbled at by me; ^ = making my head ache;
e = these Sorites; h = understood by me.
47
(i) Every idea of mine, that cannot be expressed as a
Syllogism, is really ridiculous;
(2) None of my ideas about Bath-buns are worth writing
down;
(3) No idea of mine, that fails to come true, can be ex^
pressed as a Syllogism;
(4) I never have any really ridiculous idea, that I do not
at once refer to my solicitor;
(5) My dreams are all about Bath-buns;
(6) I never refer any idea of mine to my solicitor, unless
it is worth writing down.
Univ. "my idea"; a = able to be expressed as a Syllogism;
^ zzz about Bath-buns; r = coming true; ^ = dreams;
€ = really ridiculous; h = referred to my solicitor; \ =
worth writing down.
48
(i) None of the pictures here, except the battle-pieces, are
valuable;
(2) None of the unframed ones are varnished;
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC 1^57*
(3) All the battle-pieces are painted in oils;
(4) All those that have been sold are valuable;
(5) All the English ones are varnished;
(6) All those in frames have been sold.
Univ. "the pictures here"; a == battle-pieces; ^ = Eng-
lish; c = framed; d = oil-paintings; e = sold; h = val-
uable; \ = varnished.
49
(i) Animals, that do not kick, are always unexcitable;
(2) Donkeys have no horns;
(3) A buflfalo can always toss one over a gate;
(4) No animals that kick are easy to swallow;
(5) No hornless animal can toss one over a gate;
(6) All animals are excitable, except buffaloes.
Univ. "animals"; a = able to toss one over a gate;
<^ = buffaloes; c = donkeys; (^ = easy to swallow;
e = excitable; h = horned; \ = kicking.
(i) No one, who is going to a party, ever fails to brush
his hair;
(2) No one looks fascinating, if he is untidy;
(3) Opium-eaters have no self-command;
(4) Every one, who has brushed his hair, looks fascinat-
ing;
(5) No one wears white kid gloves, unless he is going to
a party;
(6) A man is always untidy, if he has no self-command.
Univ. "persons"; a = going to a party; /^ = having
brushed one's hair; c = having self-command; d ^=. look-
ing fascinating; e = opium-eaters; h = tidy; \ = wear-
ing white kid gloves.
• 1258 A MISCELLANY
(i) No husband, who is always giving his wife new
dresses, can be a cross-grained man;
(2) A methodical husband always comes home for his
tea;
(3) No one, who hangs up his hat on the gas-jet, can be a
man that is kept in proper order by his wife;
(4) A good husband is always giving his wife new
dresses;
(5) No husband can fail to be cross-grained, if his wife
does not keep him in proper order;
(6) An unmethodical husband always hangs up his hat
on the gas-jet.
Univ. "husbands"; a -=■ always coming home for his tea;
b = always giving his wife new dresses; c = cross-
grained; d = good; € = hanging up his hat on the gas-
jet; A = kept in proper order; \ = methodical.
52
(i) Everything, not absolutely ugly, may be kept in a
drawing-room;
(2) Nothing, that is encrusted with salt, is ever quite dry ;
(3) Nothing should be kept in a drawing-room, unless it
is free from damp ;
(4) Bathing-machines are always kept near the sea;
(5) Nothing, that is made of mother-of-pearl, can be ab-
solutely ugly;
(6) Whatever is kept near the sea gets encrusted with salt.
Univ. "things"; a = absolutely ugly; ^ = bathing ma-
chines; c = encrusted with salt; d = kept near the sea;
e = made of mother-of-pearl; h = quite dry; \ = things
that may be kept in a drawing-room.
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I259
53
(i) I call no day "unlucky," when Robinson is civil to
me;
(2) Wednesdays are always cloudy;
(3) When people take umbrellas, the day never turns out
fine;
(4) The only days when Robinson is uncivil to me are
Wednesdays;
(5) Everybody takes his umbrella with him when it is
raining;
(6) My "lucky" days always turn out fine.
Univ. "days"; ^ = called by me "lucky"; ^ = cloudy;
c zz: days when people take umbrellas; ^ = days when
Robinson is civil to me; d' = rainy; /z =: turning out
fine; \ = Wednesdays.
54
(i) No shark ever doubts that it is well fitted out;
(2) A fish, that cannot dance a minuet, is contemptible;
(3) No fish is quite certain that it is well fitted out, un-
less it has three rows of teeth;
(4) All fishes, except sharks, are kind to children.
(5) No heavy fish can dance a minuet;
(6) A fish with three rows of teeth is not to be despised.
Univ. "fishes"; a = able to dance a minuet; b = certain
that he is well fitted out; c = contemptible; d := having
3 rows of teeth; e := heavy; h = kind to children;
^ = sharks.
55
(i) All the human race, except my footmen, have a cer-
tain amount of common-sense;
I26o A MISCELLANY
(2) No one, who lives on barley-sugar, can be anything
but a mere baby;
(3) None but a hop-scotch player knows what real happi-
ness is;
(4) No mere baby has a grain of common sense;
(5) No engine-driver ever plays hop-scotch;
(6) No footman of mine is ignorant of what true happi-
ness is.
Univ. "human beings"; a = engine-drivers; b := having
common sense; c = hop-scotch players; d = knowing
what real happiness is; ^ = living on barley-sugar;
h = mere babies; ^ = my footmen.
56
(i) I tru^t every animal that belongs to me;
(2) Dogs gnaw bones;
(3) I admit no animals into my study, unless they will
beg when told to do so;
(4) All the animals in the yard are mine;
(5) I admit every animal, that I trust, into my study;
(6) The only animals, that are really willing to beg when
told to do so, are dogs.
Univ. "animals"; ^ = admitted to my study; Z? = ani-
mals that I trust; c = dogs; d = gnawing bones; d* = in
the yard; h = my; \ = willing to beg when told.
57
(i) Animals are always mortally oflf ended if I fail to
notice them;
(2) The only animals that belong to me are in that field;
(3) No animal can guess a conundrum, unless it has been
properly trained in a Board-School*
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I261
(4) None of the animals in that field are badgers;
(5) When an animal is mortally offended, it always rush-
es about wildly and howls;
(6) I never notice any animal, unless it belongs to me;
(7) No animal, that has been properly trained in a
Board-School, ever rushes about wildly and howls.
Univ. "animals"; a = able to guess a conundrum;
b = badgers; ^ = in that field; d = mortally offended if
I fail to notice them; ^ = my; A = noticed by me;
]^ ^ properly trained in a Board-School; / = rushing
about wildly and howling.
58
(i) I never put a cheque, received by me, on that file,
unless I am anxious about it;
(2) All the cheques received by me, that are not marked
with a cross, are payable to bearer;
(3) None of them are ever brought back to me, unless
they have been dishonoured at the Bank;
(4) All of them, that are marked with a cross, are for
amounts of over ;^ioo;
(5) All of them, that are not on that file, are marked "not
negotiable" ;
(6) No cheque of yours, received by me, has ever been
dishonoured;
(7) I am never anxious about a cheque, received by me,
unless it should happen to be brought back to me ;
(8) None of the cheques received by me, that are marked
"not negotiable," are for amounts of over ^^loo.
Univ. "cheques received by me"; a = brought back to
me; ^ ^ cheques that I am anxious about; c = hon-
oured; d = marked with a cross; e = marked "not nego-
tiable"; ^ =z on that file; \ == over ^^loo; / = payable to
bearer; m = your.
1262 A MISCELLANY
59
All the dated letters in this room are written on blue
paper;
None of them are in black ink, except those that are
written in the third person;
3) I have not filed any of them that I can read;
4) None of them, that are written on one sheet, are un-
dated;
5) All of them, that are not crossed, are in black ink;
6) All of them, written by Brown, begin with "Dear
Sir";
7) All of them, written on blue paper, are filed;
8) None of them, written on more than one sheet, are
crossed;
(9) Nofie of them, that begin with "Dear Sir," are writ-
ten in the third person.
Univ. "letters in this room"; a = beginning with "Dear
Sir"; Z> = crossed; r = dated; ^ = filed; ^ = in black
ink; A =: in third person; ^ = letters that I can read;
/ == on blue paper; m = on one sheet; n = written by
Brown.
60
(i) The only animals in this house are cats;
(2) Every animal is suitable for a pet, that loves to gaze at
the moon;
(3) When I detest an animal, I avoid it;
(4) No animals are carnivorous, unless they prowl at
night;
(5) No cat fails to kill mice;
(6) No animals ever take to me, except what are in this
house;
(7) Kangaroos are not suitable for pets;
A SELECTION FROM SYMBOLIC LOGIC I263
(8) None but carnivora kill mice;
(9) I detest animals that do not take to me;
(10) Animals, that prowl at night, always love to gaze at
the moon.
Univ. "animals"; (^ = avoided by me; ^ = carnivora;
c = cats; d = detested by me; ^ = in this house;
h = kangaroos; \ = killing mice; / = loving to gaze
at the moon; m = prowling at night; n = suitable for
pets; r = taking to me.
Answers
1. Babies cannot manage crocodiles.
2. Your presents to me are not made of tin.
3. All my potatoes in this dish are old ones.
4. My servants never say "shpoonj."
5. My poultry are not officers.
6. None of your sons are fit to serve on a jury.
7. No pencils of mine are sugar-plums.
8. Jenkins is inexperienced.
9. No comet has a curly tail.
0. No hedge-hog takes in the Times.
1. This dish is unwholesome.
2. My gardener is very old.
3. All humming-birds are small.
4. No one with a hooked nose ever fails to make money.
5. No gray ducks in this village wear lace collars.
6. No jug in this cupboard will hold water.
7. These apples were grown in the sun.
8. Puppies, that will not lie still, never care to do wor-
sted-work.
19. No name in this list is unmelodious.
20. No M.P. should ride in a donkey-race, unless he has
perfect self-command.
1264 A MISCELLANY
21. No goods in this shop, that are still on sale, may be
carried away.
22. No acrobatic feat, which involves turning a quad-
ruple somersault, is ever attempted in a circus.
23. Guinea-pigs never really appreciate Beethoven.
24. No scentless flowers please me.
25. Showy talkers are not really well-informed.
26: None but red-haired boys learn Greek in this school.
27. Wedding-cake always disagrees with me.
28. Discussions, that go on while Tomkins is in the
chair, endanger the peacefulness of our Debating-
Club.
29. All gluttons, who are children of mine, are unhealthy.
30. An egg of the Great Auk is not to be had for a song.
31. No books sold here have gilt edges, unless they are
priced at 5^. and upwards.
32. When you cut your finger, you will find Tincture of
Calendula useful.
33. I have never come across a mermaid at sea.
34. All the romances in this library are well-written.
35. No bird in this aviary lives on mince-pies.
36. No plum-pudding, that has not been boiled in a cloth,
can be distinguished from soup.
37. All your poems are uninteresting.
38. None of my peaches have been grown in a hot-house.
39. No pawnbroker is dishonest.
40. No kitten with green eyes will play with a gorilla.
41. All my friends dine at the lower table.
42. My writing-desk is full of live scorpions.
43. No Mandarin ever reads Hogg's poems.
44. Shakespeare was clever.
45. Rainbows are not worth writing odes to.
46. These Sorites-examples are difficult.
47. All my dreams come true.
RULES FOR COURT CIRCULAR I265
48. All the English pictures here are painted in oils.
49. Donkeys are not easy to swallow.
50. Opium-eaters never wear white kid gloves.
51. A good husband always comes home for his tea.
52. Bathing-machines are never made of mother-of-pearl.
53. Rainy days are always cloudy.
54. No heavy fish is unkind to children.
55. No engine-driver lives on barley-sugar.
56. All the animals in the yard gnaw bones.
57. No badger can guess a conundrum.
58. No cheque of yours, received by me, is payable to
order.
59. I cannot read any of Brown's letters.
60. I always avoid a kangaroo.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»«««««««««««««<
RULES FOR COURT CIRCULAR
(A New Game of Cards for Two or More Players)
SECTION I. (For Two Players,)
Cut for precedence. Highest is "first-hand;" lowest "deal-
er." Dealer gives 6 cards to each, one by one, beginning
with first-hand, and turns up the 13th, which is called
the "Lead." It is convenient that the same player should
be dealer for the whole of each game.
II
First-hand then plays a card ; then the other player, and
so on, until 6 cards have been played, when the trick is
1266
A MISCELLANY
complete, and he who can make (out of the 3 cards he
has played, with or without the Lead), the best "Line,"
wms It.
First-hand.
TS ,
CO
3 l_j ' — l_l 4 r
5 6
N.B. The cards in the figure are numbered in the order
of playing.
Ill
A "Lfne" consists of 2, or all 3, of the cards put down
by either player, with or without the Lead. In making a
Line, it does not matter in what order the 3 cards have
been put down. Lines rank as follows:
(i) 3, or 4 CARDS, (LEAD included.)
Trio — i.e. 3 of a sort, (e.g. 3 Kings, or 3 Nines.)
Sequence — i.e. 3, or 4, in Sequence, (e.g. Eight, Nine,
Ten, Knave.)
Sympathy — i.e. 3, or 4, Hearts.
Court — i.e. 3, or 4, Court-cards, (if 4, it is called Court
Circular.)
N.B. In this Class a Line of 4 cards beats a similar Line
of 3. The Lead must not be reckoned in the middle of a
Sequence.
(2) 3 CARDS, (LEAD excluded.)
Names as above. ^
N.B. In making a Sequence, the Ace may be reckoned
either with King, Queen, or with Two, Three.
RULES FOR COURT CIRCULAR I267
(3) 2 CARDS, (LEAD excluded.)
Pair — i.e. 2 of a sort.
Valentine — i.e. 2 Hearts.
Etiquette — i.e. 2 Court-cards.
IV
If both have made Lines of the same kind, he whose
Line contains the best card wins the trick ; and if neither
has made a Line, he who has played the best card wins it.
Cards rank as follows:
(i) Hearts.
(2) The rest of the pack, in order Aces, Kings,
&c.
N.B. If no Hearts have been played, and the highest
cards on each side are equal, (e.g. if each have played an
Ace,) they rank in the order Diamonds, Clubs, Spades.
V
The winner of a trick chooses, as Lead for the next
trick, any one of the cards on the table, except the old
Lead ; he then takes the rest, turning them face upwards^
if he be first-hand, but if not, face downwards; and he
becomes first-hand for the next trick.
VI
The dealer then gives cards to each, one by one, be-
ginning with first-hand, until each hand is made up again
to 6 cards.
VII
At any time during a trick, after the first card of it
has been played, and before either has played 3 cards, he
whose turn it is to play may "resign" instead; in which
1268 A MISCELLANY
case no more cards are played in that trick, and the other
player wins it and proceeds as in Rule V. But when
either has played 3 cards, the other must not resign.
VIII
When the pack Is exhausted neither player may re-
sign. The winner o£ the last trick clears the board. Each
then reckons up the cards he has won, which count as
follows :
Cards face upwards .... 2 each.
downwards . . i
Hearts i
Court-cards i
(so that a Court-Heart, if face upwards, counts 4 alto-
gether.) The winner scores the difference between his
own and the loser's marks, the loser scoring nothing.
Game is 20 or 50.
SECTION II (For Three or More Players)
The same rules apply, with the following necessary
changes. The Lead is placed in the middle; first-hand then
plays a card; then the player on his left-hand, and so on
all round, each putting down his 3 cards in a row from
the Lead towards himself. He who makes the best Line
wins the trick, and is first-hand for the next trick. At any
time during a trick, after the first card of it has been
played, and before any one has played 3 cards, he whose
turn it is to play may "resign" instead; in which case he
loses his chance of winning that trick, and the other
players go on without him. But when any one has
played 3 cards, no other player may resign. In the case
where all players but one "resign," he who is left to the
last wins the trick. At the end of each game all the play-
ers but the lowest score the difference between their own
CROQUET CASTLES I269
marks and those of the lowest, the lowest scoring nothing.
Game is 50.
January, i860,
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»<«««««««««««««
CROQUET CASTLES
(For Five Players)
This Game requires the 10 arches, and 5 of the 8 balls
used in the ordinary game, and, in addition to them, an-
other set of 5 balls, (matching these in colour, but marked
so as to be distinct from them), and 5 flags, also matching
them. One set of balls is called "soldiers;" the other,
"sentinels." The arches and flags are set up as in a figure,
making 5 "castles," and each player has a castle, a soldier,
and a sentinel; the sentineFs "post" is half-way between
the "gate" and the "door" of the castle, and the soldier is
placed, to begin the game, just within the gate.
(N.B. The distance from one gate to the next should be
6 or 8 yards, and from the gate of a castle to the door 4
yards; and the distance from the door to the flag should
be equal to the width of the door.)
II
The soldiers are played in order, as marked above;
then the sentinels, in the same order, and so on. Each
soldier has to "invade" the other 4 castles, in order, (e.g,
soldier No. 3 has to invade castles Nos. 4, 5, i, 2,) then to
re-enter his own, and touch the flag; and whoever does
this first, wins. To "invade" a castle, he must enter the
1270 A MISCELLANY
gate, go through the door, then between the door and the
flag, then out at the gate again: but he cannot enter a
castle, unless either the sentinel of that castle, or his own
sentinel, be out o£ its castle.
(N.B. No ball can enter or leave a castle, except by
passing through the gate.)
Ill
If a sentinel touch a soldier, both being in the sentin-
el's castle, the soldier is "prisoner;" he is replaced (if
necessary) where he was when touched, the sentinel is
placed in the gate, and the castle is "fortified." The pris-
oner cannot move, and nothing can go through the gate,
till the castle is opened again, which is done either by
the prisoner's comrade coming and touching the sentinel
in the gate, or by the sentinel leaving the gate to go and
rescue his own comrade: in the former case, both sen-
tinels are replaced at their posts.
IV
When a prisoner is set free, he cannot be again taken
prisoner until after his next turn.
If a ball touch another (except a prisoner, or a sentinel
in his castle), the player may, if he likes, replace it where
it was when touched, and use it to croquet his own with :
in the excepted cases, he must replace it, but can do no
more.
VI
If a soldier go through an arch, or between a door and
flag, in his proper course, or if a sentinel go through the
gate of his castle, the player has another turn.
CROQUET CASTLES 1271
VII
A player, whose soldier is a prisoner, plays all his turns
with his sentinel; and one, whose castle is fortified, with
his soldier, unless it be taken prisoner, when he must play
his sentinel to rescue it.
VIII
The sentinel of a fortified castle is considered to be in,
or out of, the castle, as the owner chooses: that is, if he
wishes to invade a castle, the sentinel of which is within
it, he may consider his own sentinel as out of its castle
(which gives him the right of invasion) : or, if he wishes
to go and rescue his soldier, he may consider it as in (so
that he first plays it through the gate, and then has an-
other turn).
CH.CH., OXFORD, May 4, 1863.
N.B. This game does not absolutely require more than
two additional balls, beside those used in the ordinary
game; these may be Light Blue and Light Green, and
the 10 balls may be arranged as follows —
Soldiers
Sentinels
BLUE.
LIGHT BLUE.
BLACK.
BROWN.
ORANGE.
YELLOW.
GREEN.
LIGHT GREEN.
RED.
PINK.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»!«««««««««««««<<
MISCHMASCH
(A Word-Game For Two Players or Two Sets of Players)
''Pars pro toto!'
The essence of this game consists in one Player propos-
ing a "nucleus" (i.e. a set of two or more letters, such as
"gp," "emo," "imse"), and in the other trying to find a
'^lawful word" (i.e. a word known in ordinary society,
and not a proper name), containing it. Thus, "magpie,"
"lemon," "himself," are lawful words containing the nuc-
lei gp, emo, imse.
A nucleus must not contain a hyphen (e.g. for the
nucleus "erga," "flower-garden" is not a lawful word).
Any word, that is always printed with a capital initial
(e.g. "English"), counts as a proper name.
RULES
1. Each thinks of a nucleus, and says "ready" when he
has done so. When both have spoken, the nuclei are
named. A Player may set a nucleus without knowing of
any word containing it.
2. When a Player has guessed a word containing the
nucleus set to him (which need not be the word thought
of by the Player who set it), or has made up his mind that
there is no such word, he says "ready," or "no word," as
the case may be: when he has decided to give up trying,
he says "I resign." The other must then, within a stated
time (e.g. 2 minutes), say "ready," or "no word," or "I
resign," or "not ready." If he says nothing, he is assumed
to be "not ready."
3. When both have spoken, if the first speaker said
1272
MISCHMASCH I273
"ready," he now names the word he has guessed: if he
said "no word," he, who set the nucleus, names, i£ he
can, a word containing it. The other Player then proceeds
in the same way.
4. The Players then score as follows — (N.B. When a
Player is said to "lose" marks, it means that the other
scores them,)
Guessing a word, rightly, scores i.
" " wrongly, loses i.
Guessing "no word," rightly, scores 2.
wrongly, loses 2.
Resigning loses i.
This ends the first move.
5. For every other move, the Players proceed as for
the first move, except that when a Player is "not ready,"
or has guessed a word wrongly, he has not a new nucleus
set to him, but goes on guessing the one in hand, having
first, if necessary, set a new nucleus for the other Player.
6. A "resigned" nucleus cannot be set again during
the same game. If, however, one or more letters be added
or subtracted, it counts as a new one.
7. The move, in which either scores 10, is the final
one; when it is completed, the game is over, and the high-
est score wins, or, if the scores be equal, the game is
drawn.
November, 1882.
»»»»»»»»»»»»»>«««««««««««««^
DOUBLETS
A Word-Puzzle
PREFACE
On the 29th of March, 1879, the following article ap-
peared in Vanity Fair —
A NEW PUZZLE
The reader^ of Vanity Fair have during the last ten
years shown so much interest in the Acrostics and Hard
Cases which were first made the object of sustained com-
petition for prizes in this journal, that it has been sought
to invent for them an entirely new kind of Puzzle, such
as would interest them equally with those that have al-
ready been so successful. The subjoined letter from Mr.
Lewis Carroll will explain itself, and will introduce a
Puzzle so entirely novel and withal so interesting, that
the transmutation of the original into the final word of
the Doublets may be expected to become an occupation
to the full as amusing as the guessing of the Double Acros-
tics has already proved.
In order to enable readers to become acquainted with
the new Puzzle, preliminary Doublets will be given dur-
ing the next three weeks — that is to say, in the present
number of Vanity Fair and in those of the 5th and 12th
April. A competition will then be opened — ^beginning
with the Doublets published on the 19th April, and in-
cluding all those published subsequently up to and in-
cluding the number of the 26th July — for three prizes,
consisting respectively of a Proof Album for the first
and of Ordinary Albums for the second and third prizes.
1274
DOUBLETS 1275
The rule of scoring will be as follows — A number of
marks will be apportioned to each Doublet equal to the
number of letters in the two words given. For example, in
the instance given below of "Head" and "Tail," the num-
ber of possible marks to be gained would be eight; and
this maximum will be gained by each one of those who
make the chain with the least possible number of changes.
If it be assumed that in this instance the chain cannot be
completed with less than the four links given, then those
that complete it with four links only will receive eight
marks, while a mark will be deducted for every extra
link used beyond four. Any competitor, therefore, using
five links would score seven marks, any competitor using
eight links would score four, and any using twelve links
or more would score nothing. The marks gained by each
competitor will be published each week.
DEAR VANITY. — Just a year ago last Christmas, two
young ladies^ — smarting under that secret scourge of fem-
inine humanity, the having "nothing to do" — besought
me to send them "some riddles." But riddles I had none
at hand, and therefore set myself to devise some other
form of verbal torture which should serve the same pur-
pose. The result of my meditations was a new kind of
Puzzle — new at least to me — which, now that it has been
fairly tested by a year's experience and commended by
many friends, I offer to you, as a newly-gathered nut, to
be cracked by the omniverous teeth which have already
masticated so many of your Double Acrostics.
The rules of the Puzzle are simple enough. Two words
are proposed, of the same length; and the puzzle con-
sists in linking these together by interposing other words,
each of which shall differ from the next word in one let-
ter only. That is to say, one letter may be changed in one
1276 A MISCELLANY
of the given words, then one letter in the word so ob-
tained, and so on, till we arrive at the other given word.
The letters must not be interchanged among themselves,
but each must keep to its own place. As an example, the
word "head" may be changed into "tail" by interposing
the words "heal, teal, tell, tall." I call the two given words
"a Doublet," the interposed words "Links," and the en-
tire series "a Chain," of which I here append an example —
HEAD
heal
teal
tell
tall
TAIL
It is, perhaps, needless to state that it is de rigueur that
the links should be English words, such as might be used
in good society.
The easiest "Doublets" are those in which the conson-
ants in one word answer to consonants in the other, and
the vowels to vowels; "head" and "tail" constitute a
Doublet of this kind. Where this is not the case, as in
"head" and "hare," the first thing to be done is to trans-
form one member of the Doublet into a word whose
consonants and vowels shall answer to those of the other
member (e.g., "head, herd, here,"), after which there is
seldom much difficulty in completing the "Chain."
I am told there is an American game involving a sim-
ilar principle. I have never seen it, and can only say of
its inventors, ''pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerunt!"
LEWIS CARROLL
RULES
\
I. The words given to be linked together constitute a'
"Doublet;" the interposed words are the "Links;" and
DOUBLETS 1277
the entire series a "Chain." The object is to complete the
Chain with the least possible number of Links.
2. Each word in the Chain must be formed from the
preceding word by changing one letter in it, and one only.
The substituted letter must occupy the same place, in
the word so formed, which the discarded letter occupied
in the preceding word, and all the other letters must re-
tain their places.
3. When three or more words are given to be made into
a Chain, the first and last constitute the "Doublet." The
others are called "Set Links," and must be introduced
into the Chain in the order in which they are given. A
Chain of this kind must not contain any word twice over.
4. No word is admissible as a Link unless it (or, if it
be an inflection, a word from which it comes) is to be
found in the following Glossary.-^ Comparatives and su-
*The glossary mentioned here is a list of common English words
which appeared in the original edition of "Doublets". It has not been
included in this volume. Ed.
perlatives of adjectives and adverbs, when regularly
formed, are regarded as "inflections" of the positive form,
and are not given separately: e.g. the word "new" being
given, it is to be understood that "newer" and "newest"
are also admissible. But nouns formed from verbs (as
"reader" from "read") are not so regarded, and may not
be used as Links unless they are to be found in the Glos-
sary.
METHOD OF SCORING
ADOPTED IN "vanity FAIr"
I. The marks assigned to each Doublet are as follows —
If it be given without any Set Links, so many marks are
assigned to it as there are letters in the two words together
(e.g., a four-letter Doublet would have eight marks as-
1278 A MISCELLANY
signed to it). If it be given with Set Links, so that the
Chain is made up of two or more portions, so many marks
are assigned to it as would have been assigned if each
portion had been a separate Chain (e.g., a four-letter
Doublet which has two Set Links, so that the chain is
made up of three portions, would have twenty-four
marks assigned to it).
2. Each competitor, who completes the Chain with
the least possible number of Links, will receive the full
number of marks assigned ; and each who uses more than
the least possible number of Links will lose a mark for
every additional Link.
3. Each competitor is required to send his three Chains,
with his signature attached, written on one piece of paper.
4. The Editor of Vanity Fair will be glad to receive
any suggestions, both as to words which it seems desirable
to omit, and as to omitted words which it seems desirable
to insert: but any words proposed for insertion or for
omission should be exhibited as a Lin\ between two other
words.
5. Alterations will not be made in this Glossary during
any competition, but will be duly announced before the
commencement of a- new competition, so that those who
already possess copies will be able to correct them, and
will not be obliged to buy a* new edition.
"Vanity Fair" Office,
13, Tavistock Street,
Covent Garden,
LONDON.
\
DOUBLETS 1279
DOUBLETS ALREADY SET
IN "vanity fair"
March 29: Drive PIG into STY.
Raise FOUR to FIVE.
Make WHEAT into BREAD.
April 5: Dip PEN into INK.
Touch CHIN with NOSE.
Change TEARS into SMILE.
April 12: Change WET to DRY.
Make HARE into SOUP.
PITCH TENTS.
April 19: Cover EYE vi^ith LID.
Prove PITY to be GOOD.
STEAL COINS.
April 26: Make EEL into PIE.
Turn POOR into RICH.
Prove RAVEN to be MISER.
May 3: Change OAT to RYE.
Get WOOD from TREE.
Prove GRASS to be GREEN.
May 10: Evolve MAN from APE.
Change CAIN into ABEL.
Make FLOUR into BREAD.
May 17: Make TEA HOT.
Run COMB into HAIR.
Prove a ROGUE to be a BEAST.
May 24; Change ELM into OAK.
Combine ARMY and NAVY.
Place BEARS on SHELF.
I28o
May 31 :
June 7:
June 14:
June 21 :
A MISCELLANY
HOOK FISH.
QUELL a BRAVO.
Stow FURIES in BARREL.
BUY an ASS.
Get COAL from MINE.
Pay COSTS in PENCE.
Raise ONE to TWO.
Change BLUE to PINK.
Change BLACK to WHITE.
Change FISH to BIRD.
Sell SHOES for CRUST.
Make KETTLE HOLDER.
►»»>»»»»»»»»»»X««<««««««««««'<
A POSTAL PROBLEM
(June, i8gi)
The Rule, for Commissions chargeable on overdue Post-
al Orders, is given in the "Post Office Guide" in these
words, (it is here divided, for convenience of reference,
into 3 clauses) —
(a) After the expiration of 3 months from the last
day of the month of issue, a Postal Order will be payable
only on payment of a Commission, equal to the amount
of the original poundage
(b) with the addition (if more than 3 months have
elapsed since the said expiration) of the amount of the
original poundage for every further period of 3 months
which has so elapsed
A POSTAL PROBLEM 1281
(c) and for every portion of any such period of 3
months over and above every complete period.
You are requested to answer the following questions,
in reference to a Postal Order for 10/. (on which the
"original poundage" would be id.) issued during the
month of January, so that the ist "period" would con-
sist of the months February, March, April; the 2nd would
consist of the months May, June, July ; and the 3rd would
consist of the months August, September, October.
(i) Supposing the Rule to consist of clause (a) only,
on what day would a "Commission" begin to be charge-
able.? ( )
(2) What would be its amount.? ( )
(3) Supposing the Rule to consist of clauses (a) and
(b), on what day would the lowest "Commission" begin
to be chargeable? ( )
(4) What would be its amount? ( )
(5) On what day would a larger "Commission" (be-
ing the sum of 2 "Commissions") begin to be chargeable?
( )
(6) What would be its amount? ( )
(7) On what day would a yet larger "Commission"
begin to be chargeable? ( )
(8) What would be its amount? ( )
(9) Taking the Rule as consisting of all 3 clauses, in
which of the above-named 3 "periods" does clause (c)
first begin to take effect? ( )
(10) Which day, of any "period," is the earliest on
which it can be said that a "portion" of the "period" has
elapsed? ( )
(11) On what day would the lowest "Commission"
begin to be chargeable ? ( )
(12) What would be its amount? ( )
1282 A MISCELLANY
(13) On what day would a larger "Commission" be-
gin to be chargeable? ( )
(14) What would be its amount? ( )
(15) On what day would a yet larger "Commission"
begin to be chargeable ? ( )
(16) What would be its amount? ( )
Signature
Date
#
SUPPLEMENT
The Rule is given, below, in a form which exhibits its
grammatical construction —
(a.i) After the expiration of 3 months
from the last day of the month of
issue, a Postal Order will be
payable only on payment
(b.i) with the addition (if
more than 3 months have
of elapsed since the said
(a.2) a Commission, equal expiration)
to the amount of the of
original poundage the amount of the original
poundage
for
(b.2) every further
period of 3 months
which has so
elapsed
and for
(c.) every portion of
any such period of
3 months over and
above every com-
plete period.
>»»»»»»»»»»»»»«««««««««•««««•<
THE ALPHABET-CIPHER
A
B
C D
E
F
G H
I J K
L
M N
0
P Q R
S
T U
V
W X
Y Z
A
a
b
c
d
e
b
c
d
e
f
c
d
e
f
g
d
e
f
g
h
e
f
f
g
g
h
i
j
k
h
i
•
J
k
1
i
j
k
1
m
j
k
1
m
n
o
P
m
n
o
P
q
n
o
P
q
r
o
p
q
r
s
t
u
r
s
t
u
V
s
t
u
V
w
t
u
1
V
w
X
y
z
w
X
y
z
a
X
y
z
a
b
y
z
a
b
c
z
a
b
c
d
A
B
k
1
P
q
u
V
B
C
g
h
1
m
q
r
V
w
C
D
h
i
m
n
r
s
w
X
D
E
i
j
n
o
s
t
X
y
E
F
f
g
h
i
J
g
h
i
J
k
h
i
j
k
1
•
•
J
k
I
m
ih
1
m
n
o
P
m
n
o
P
q
n
o
P
q
r
o
P
q
r
s
t
u
V
s
t
u
V
w
t
u
V
w
X
y
z
w
X
y
z
a
X
y
z
a
b
y
z
z
a
a
b
c
d
e
b
c
d
e
f
c
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G
k
1
P
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G
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1
m
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V
w
w
X
a
b
H
I
m
n
r
s
b
c
c
d
I
J
n
o
s
t
X
y
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K
k
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m
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m
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n
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P
q
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s
t
u
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s
t
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V
s
t
u
V
w
t
u
V
w
X
y
z
w
X
y
z
a
X
y
z
a
b
y
z
z
a
a
b
c
d
e
b
c
d
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f
c
d
e
f
g
d
e
f
g
h
•
1
•
J
g
h
•
1
j
k
h
i
•
J
k
1
i
•
J
k
1
m
j
k
I
m
n
K
L
P
q
u
V
V
w
e
f
L
M
q
r
a
b
f
g
M
N
r
s
w
X
b
c
g
h
N
0
s
t
X
y
c
d
h
i
0
P
P
q
r
s
t
q
r
s
t
u
r
s
t
u
V
s
t
u
V
w
t
u
V
w
X
y
z
w
X
y
z
a
X
y
z
a
b
y
z
a
b
c
d
e
b
c
d
e
f
c
d
e
f
g
d
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e
f
f
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i
g
h
i
j
h
i
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1
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1
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1
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m
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o
P
q
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s
P
Q
u
V
z
a
j
k
Q
R
V
w
a
b
b
c
f
g
g
h
k
1
1
m
R
S
w
X
S
T
X
y
c
d
h
i
j k
m
n
r
U
u
V
w
X
y
z
V
w
X
y
z
a
w
X
y
z
a
b
X
y
z
a
b
c
y
z
a
b
c
d
e
f
b
c
d
e
f
g
c
d
e
f
g
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d
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f
g
h
i
•
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k
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j
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1
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•
1
j
k
1
m
•
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j
k
k
1
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1
m
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q
m
n
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q
r
n
o
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q
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s
t
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s
t
u
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r
s
t
u
V
w
s
t
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w
X
t
u
V
w
X
y
u
V
z
a
e
f
o
P
V
w
a
b
f
g
g
h
k
I
P
q
w
X
b
c
1
m
q
r
X
Y
c
d
h
i
m
n
r
s
Y
Z
d
e
i
i
n
o
s
t
Z
ABC DEFGH I JKLMNOPQ RS TUVWXYZ
EXPLANATION
Each column of this table forms a dictionary of symbols
representing the alphabet: thus, in the A column, the
1283
1284 A MISCELLANY
symbol is the same as the letter represented ; in the B col-
umn, A is represented by B, B by C, and so on.
To use the table, some word or sentence should be
agreed on by two correspondents. This may be called the
"key-word/' or "key-sentence/' and should be carried in
the memory only.
In sending a message, write the key-word over it, letter
for letter, repeating it as often as may be necessary: the
letters of the key-word will indicate which column is to
be used in translating each letter of the message, the sym-
bols for which should be written underneath: then copy
out the symbols only, and destroy the first paper. It will
now be impossible for any one, ignorant 9f the key-word,
to decipher the message, even with the help of the table.
For example, let the key-word be vigilance, and the
message "meet me on Tuesday evening at seven," the
first paper will read as follows —
vigilancevigilancevigilancevi
meetmeontuesdayeveningatseven
hmkbxebpxpmyllyrxiiqtoltfgzzv
The second will contain only "hmkbxebpxpmyl
lyrxiiqtoltfgzz v."
The receiver of the message can, by the same process,
retranslate it into English.
N.B. If this table be lost, it can easily be written out
from memory, by observing that the first symbol in each
column is the same as the letter naming the column, and
that they are continued downwards in alphabetical order.
Of course it would only be necessary to write out the par-
ticular columns required by the key-word: such a paper,
however, should not be preserved, as it would afford
means for discovering the key-word.
►»»»»»»»»»»»»»«««««««««««««4
( <
INTRODUCTION TO
THE LOST PLUM CAKE"
{In i8gy Lewis Carroll wrote an introduction to "The host
Plum Cake'' a "tale for tiny boys'' by E. G. Wilcox, It is
completely in character: in its devotion to children, its advice
to mothers, its engaging whimsicality, and its childlike pre^
occupation with the cover. It is a fitting piece for the end oj
this book because it is the last thing he ever wrote for his
beloved children. He died soon afterwards.^
The writer o£ the Introduction to a book, who is not him
self the author of the book, enjoys one singular privilege
— he can discuss its merits with a freedom that very few
authors would venture to use: since, however sweet the
"blowing one's own trumpet" may sound to the enrap
tured trumpeter, it is apt to pall on other ears. Let me,
then, avail myself of this privilege by saying that I be
lieve Mrs. Egerton Allen has a very special talent for writ-
ing books for very young children. Her dialogues have
all the vividness of a photograph; and I feel sure that all
real children — children who have not been spoiled by too
much notice, and thus taught to give themselves the airs
of little men and women — will like to read the story of
tiny "Joey," and will enjoy the clever and sympathetic
sketches with which Mrs. Shute has adorned it. It is, I
think, a real loss to the thousands of child-readers, for
whom so many charming books have been written, that
Mrs. Allen's first litde book — "Little Humphrey's Ad-
venture''— has been allowed by the Publishers, who hold
the copyright of it, to go out of print. It is a thorough
child's book, and I trust the S.P.C.K. may ere long see
their way to issuing another edition of it.
1285
1286 A MISCELLANY
But the writer of this Introduction is not alone in his
good fortune: the reader of this little book has also a
singular privilege at his command, in connection with
the cover, which was designed for it by Miss E. Gertrude
Thomson. Holding the book at the middle point of each
side, and turn it about till the light (which should
come from behind him) causes what look like little hills
on the red cover to glitter, he can then fidget it about —
he will soon catch the knack — till the gold ornamentation
seems to lift itself a good half-inch off the cover; and he
can easily persuade his eye^ if not his intellect, to believe
that, in turning the book about, he is causing the gold to
cover now one part of the red and now another. It is a
really curious optical illusion.
Let me seize this opportunity of saying one earnest
word to the mothers into whose hands this little book
may chance to come, who are in the habit of taking their
children to church with them. However well and rever- 1
ently those dear little ones have been taught to behave,
there is no doubt that so long a period of enforced quiet-
ude is a severe tax on their patience. The hymns, per-
haps, tax it least: and what a pathetic beauty there is in
the sweet fresh voices of the children, and how earnestly
they sing! I took a little girl of six to church with me one
day: they had told me she could hardly read at all — ^but
she made me find all her places for her! And afterwards I
said to her elder sister, "What made you say Barbara
couldn't read? Why, I heard her joining in, all through
the hymn!" And the little sister gravely replied, "She
knows the tunes, but not the wordsT Well, to return to
my subject — children in church. The lessons and the pray-
ers, are not wholly beyond them: often they can catch
little bits that come within the range of their small minds.
But the sermons! It goes to one's heart to see, as I so
"the lost plum cake" 1287
often do, little darlings of five or six years old, forced to
sit still through a weary half-hour, with nothing to do, and
not one word of sermon that they can understand. Most
heartily can I sympathise with the little charity-girl, who
is said to have written to some friend, "I thinks, when I
grows up, ril never go to church no more. I thinks Fse
getting sermons enough to last me all my life!" But need
it be so? Would it be so very irreverent to let your child
have a story-book to read during the sermon, to while
away that tedious half-hour, and to make church-going a
bright and happy memory, instead of rousing the thought
**ril never go to church no more?" I think not. For my
part, I should love to see the experiment tried. I am quite
sure it would be a success. My advice would be to \eep
some books for that special purpose — I would call such
books "Sunday-treats" — and your little boy or girl would
soon learn to look forward with eager hope to that half-
hour, once so tedious. If I were the preacher, dealing with
some subject too hard for the little ones, I should love to
see them all enjoying their picture-books. And if this little
book should ever come to be used as a "Sunday-treat" for
some sweet baby-reader, I don't think it could serve a
better purpose.
LEWIS CARROLL
Christmas, i8^y.
\
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
OF VERSE
A boat, beneath a sunny sky, 272
A is for [Acland], who'd physic the Masses, 920
Alas! she would not hear my prayer! 809, 1232
All in the golden afternoon, 13
A Mother's breast, 940
And cannot pleasures, while they last, 863
"And did you really walk," said I, 834
Around my lonely hearth to-night, 937
"Are you deaf. Father William?" the young man said, 930
As curly-headed Jemmy was sleeping in bed, 821
A short direction, 784
As I was sitting on the hearth, 788
As one who strives a hill to climb, 847
A stick I found that weighed two pound, 819
Ay, 'twas here, on this spot, 885
Beautiful Soup, so rich and green, 113
Beloved pupil! Tamed by thee, 981
Beneath the waters of the sea, 813
Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack, 898
Child of the pure unclouded brow, 135
"Don't they consult the 'Victims,' though?" 843
Dreaming of apples on a wall, 819
Dreams, that elude the Maker's frenzied grasp, 507
Empress of Art, for thee I twine, 895
Fair stands the ancient Rectory, 794
"First the fish must be caught," 263
Five fathom square the Belfry frowns, 1148
1289
1290 INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF VERSE
Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One, 879
Five seeing, and seven blind, 822
From his shoulder Hiaw^atha, 856
From sackcloth couch the Monk arose, 319
Girt w^ith a boyish garb for boyish task, 756
Hark, said the dying man, and sighed, 953
"Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky?" 909
He looked again, and found it was, 701
"Here I bee, and here I byde," 11 16
Here's to the Freshman of bashful eighteen! 1168
He saw her once, and in the glance, 946
He shouts amain, he shouts again, 933
He steps so lightly to the land, 444
He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk, 334
He thought he saw a Buflfalo, 328
He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four, 347 *
He thought he saw a Garden-Door, 376
He thought he saw a Kangaroo, 342
He thought he saw an Albatross, 374
He thought he saw an Argument, 701
He thought he saw an Elephant, 320
He thought he saw a Rattlesnake, 330
He trilled a carol fresh and free, 865
His barque had perished in the storm, 11 08
"How shall I be a poet?" 880
Hush-a-by lady, in Alice's lap! 257
I charm in vain: for never again, 938
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, 810
If such a thing had been my thought, 787
I have a fairy by my side, 779
I have a horse — a ryghte goode horse — 855
I'll tell thee everything I can, 245
I love the stillness of the wood, 958
"I'm EMInent in RHYME!" she said, 940
I met an aged, aged man, 813
I never loved a dear Gazelle, 878
In her eyes as the living light, 960
In Shylock's bargain for the flesh was found, 821
INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF VERSE I29I
In stature the Manlet was dwarfish — 671
In the dark silence of an ancient room, 950
*'ln these degenerate days," we oft hear said, 822
In winter, when the fields are white, 217
I painted her a gushing thing, 904
Is all our Life, then, but a dream, 275
I sing a place wherein agree, 923
Is it the glow of conscious pride — , 1 144
I stood within the gate, 972
**It is the lawyer's daughter," 936
John gave his brother James a box, 819
"Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried, 757
King Fisher courted Lady Bird — 530
"Ladies and Gentlemen" seems stiff and cold, 824
Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 853
Lady dear, if Fairies may, 15
Let craft, ambition, spite, 345
Little Birds are dining, 725
Little maidens, when you look, 922
"Look on the Quadrangle of Christ Church, squarely, for is
it not a Square?" 1149
Lorenzo dwelt at Heighington, 11 14
Love-lighted eyes, that will not start, 931
Maidens, if a maid you meet, 928
"Maidens! if you love the tale," 930
Maiden, though thy heart may quail, 932
Man naturally loves delay, 780
Matilda Jane, you never look, 564
Methought I walked a dismal place, 786
Museum! loveliest building of the plain, 917
"My First — but don't suppose," he said, 831
My First is singular at best, 897
My first lends his aid when I plunge into trade, 939
"My mother bids me bind my hair," 903
Oh, dear beyond our dearest dreams, 421
"Oh, do not forget the day when we met," 901
1292 INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF VERSE
"Oh pudgy podgy pup!" 934
"Oh, when I was a Uttle Ghost," 838
"One thousand pounds per annum," 630
One winter night, at half-past nine, 827
"Only a woman's hair!" Fling it aside! 967
Our Latin books, in motley row, 976
Our Willie had been sae lang awa', 1 155
"Peter is poor," said noble Paul, 362
Puck has fled the haunts of men, 977
Rise, oh, rise! The daylight dies, 401
Round the wondrous globe I wander wild, 928
Said the Moon to the Sun, 820
Say, what is the spell, when her fledgelings are cheeping, 692
See! There are tears upon her face, 969 *
"Seek ye Love, ye fairy-sprites?" 933
Seven blind of both eyes, 821
Shall soldiers tread the murderous path of war, 823
"She is gone by the Hilda," 806
She's all my fancy painted him, 807
"Sister, sister, go to bed!" 782
Speak roughly to your little boy, 68
That salmon and sole Puss should think very grand, 822
The air is bright with hues of light, 896
The day was wet, the rain fell souse, 791
The elder and the younger knight, 1029
The ladye she stood at her lattice high, 887
The light was faint, and soft the air, 962
The morn was bright, the steeds were light, 966
The night creeps onward, sad and slow, 975
There are certain things — as, a spider, a ghost, 854
There be three Badgers on a mossy stone, 419
There was an old farmer of Readall, 781
There was an ancient City, stricken down, 893
There was a Pig, that sat alone, 359
There was a young lady of station, 939
There were two brothers at Twyford School, 799
INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF VERSE I293
The royal MAB, dethroned, discrowned, 932
The sun was shining on the sea, 183
The Youth at Eve had drunk his fill, 805
They passed beneath the College gate, 905
They told me you had been to her, 126
Three children (their names were so fearful, 926
Three little maidens weary of the rail, 923
Three little maids, one winter day, 925
Three sisters at breakfast were feeding the cat, 820
'Tis a melancholy song, and it will not keep you long, 816
'Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare, iii
To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said, 260
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, 153
Tweedledum and Tweedledee, 181
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! 79
'Twixt "Perhaps" and "May Be", 821
Two little girls near London dwell, 929
Two thieves went out to steal one day, 927
Were I to take an iron gun, 783
What hand may wreathe thy natal crown, 935
What is more like a bee in May? 819
What's this?" I pondered. "Have I slept?" 851
What though the world be cross and crooky? 11 07
When . a . y and I . a told . a . . ie they'd seen a, 925
When Maggie once to Oxford came, 941
When midnight mists are creeping, 937
When on the sandy shore I sit, 884
"Wiffie! I'm sure that something is the matter," 826
With saddest music all day long, 861
"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail, 107
Written by Maggie B , 945
"You are old. Father William," the young man said, 56
Ytte wes a mirke an dreiry cave, 789
N.
31197001651576
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